Tales of a Gutsy Dragon
by 4DX
Summary: In the DDA, the title of Hunter Dragon is reserved for players who specialised in the role of tracking, hunting, and perhaps taming rare beasts; in other words, a monster hunter. Tell that to Smokes, however, and he would disagree. He would describe himself more of a natural historian, a scholar, than just a plain dull monster hunter.
1. Chapter 1

**Darkness and Lightning: Part I**

The slopes grew steeper, but Smokes kept to his pace, knowing that his horse, Soldier, was up to the task. The dark gelding was big and used to hard labour, soldiering through ankle-deep snow as though he was a ploughing ox. Smokes hugged close to Soldier's mane for balance and to shield himself from the harsh winds biting at his exposed cheeks; his furred hat covered everything except his face. He could hear little as his ears were muffled.

Up and up they went the mountain, the sun all but a blur under misty air and clouds. Then, the ground levelled, and Smokes pulled Soldier to a stop on top a crest. He let in a short breath—the air tasted metallic—and looked up.

The peaks of the mountain stood hidden farther than he could see, which wasn't much in this weather. The crest which he had just arrived on was merely a footstool and he dreaded the time later when he would have climb up further. But for now, he turned his attention back on to the path ahead, where it winded down steeply into a white valley. Grey fumes rose steadily from the chimneys of the village, melting the snow on top the roofs of huts, the water trickling down the edge to where they were collected in buckets.

Smokes dismounted and regretted the second his boots touched the ground. His boots were once of excellent quality, but wear and tear had done its damage, leaving small recesses where the snow and ice could slip in. Taking each step felt like lifting weights, and he could feel his feet all wet and disgusting. Not to mention the difficulty in going downhill while leading Soldier by the reins. He wished he could simply ride down, but that was too dangerous.

Eventually, Smokes made it to a point where he could take strides rather than inches and found that he could breathe easy again. There was no gate to the village, no walls either. A crooked pole with a ragged blue banner passed off as an entrance.

Two players sat by a small table by the pole, playing shogi. Shogi had become a favourite pastime of many Aincrad Clearers, even for those who played little beforehand, as the intense concentration the game required took minds off the everyday looming threat of death.

Smokes noted their thick white cloaks rimmed with blood red, beautifully made, under which they wore padded jerkins and leather trousers dyed white and red. He most especially envied their boots, however, made of lizard-hybrid hide from the floor below; waterproof through and through. Smokes had an eye for good hides; it was part of his job.

The nearer of the two players noticed him first and stood up, the hilt of his sword showing from under his cloak.

"Who are you?" he asked. He had large bushy eyebrows, unusually round mouth, and no facial hair.

Smokes smiled. "I'm Smokes."

"Hell of a name," Eyebrows said. "What are you doing here?"

"I reckon the same as you. Hunting, grinding, levelling, all that nonsense."

"How did you find this place?"

Smokes was used to being endlessly questioned. The best response was to simply answer as honestly as possible—without, of course, revealing anything. "Research, rumours, info brokers, and some luck."

Eyebrows looked to his partner. The farther player had stayed seated, watching Smokes with a bored expression as if simply waiting for his friend to hurry up and finish, eager to get on with the game. He shrugged.

"Didn't expect to find some KoB folks here though," said Smokes. He had caught glimpses of the red insignia cross of the Knights of the Blood Oath hidden under their cloaks, confirming his suspicions.

"You're a clearer?" the seated man asked. He was older than Eyebrows by a good number of years, Smokes reckoned, and he had a sharp jaw with a stubble. Most probably he was the superior rank of the two.

"Yes and no," Smokes said. "I do my part in the active clearing of Aincrad. But do I fight on the frontlines where most of the action happens? No."

Eyebrows frowned. "So, you're not a clearer."

"Yes and no, like I said."

"No, you're not." Eyebrows took a step closer to him, perhaps to intimidate him. He was taller than Smokes by half a head, seemingly larger with all that padding and cloak, but Smokes always had this devil within him that caused him to not be afraid. "There are those of us who've died fighting. Don't you dare consider yourself one of us, if you haven't risked your life."

"I _have _risked my life," Smokes said calmly. "How else am I here?" He let it sink in for a moment. "And clearing is not all just fighting, you know. Lots of preparation is needed for raids, dungeon crawls, and boss fights. Supplies, mats, scouting, mapping, you name it. I'm just simply one of those that work behind the scenes."

Eyebrows opened his mouth in what seem to be a retort but was stopped by the older player. Superior stood up, obviously not happy with where things are seeming to go. He eyed Smokes for a long while.

"Smokes, is it? What guild are you? You're definitely not a solo player, so don't bother lying to me."

Smokes nodded and reached inside his shirt. He pulled out a silver chain fashioned with a horned dragon's head.

"You're DDA!" Eyebrows spat, his hand falling to his sword's hilt.

"I knew it," said Superior. "Horses are expensive. Few guilds could afford to give their non-frontline members horses."

Almost as if he could understand their conversation, Soldier neighed, striking up snow with his front leg. Smokes produced an apple from his cloak and fed it to him; he finished it in about three bites.

"Fucking scum is here to spy on us!" said Eyebrows. "Well spy all you want, we got nothing to hide. But if you DDA think you can come steal from us you're hella wrong."

"I didn't expect any KoBs here actually," said Smokes. That was the truth.

"Calm yourself, Korthe," Superior snapped, then faced Smokes again. "Let's see, horned dragon head chain. You're a Hunter Dragon, Smokes."

"One of the few," Smokes admitted.

There was a very tall hierarchy structure inside the Holy Dragon Divine Alliance, with the lowest being Dragonlings while the Dragon Emperor sat atop the food chain. Hunter Dragons were unique in the sense that they do not have any underlings who answer to them, but were still regarded to be highly respected for the specialised role they serve. Said role being to track, and hunt, perhaps tame, but mostly kill, rare monsters that appear within the world of Aincrad. The gears of players are often what makes the difference between living and death, and the best of gears are made from the rarest of materials, which can be obtained through hunting these monsters.

"You're tracking something here then?" Superior questioned.

Superior was a hard person to lie to. Too observant. "Yes," Smokes said. "But, of course, tracking is hit and miss. You could spend weeks on a lead only to find that it's a dead end and you've wasted all your time. I'm been lucky a lot so far though."

"Do you think you'll find something here?"

Smokes smirked. "Now why would I tell you that?"

Korthe was all in his face. "You arrogant piece of shit! What are you tracking?"

"Korthe! Leave him," Superior said, holding the younger man back from drawing his blade. After a few moments, he shrugged. "Whatever, it's none of our business." He looked at Smokes in the eye, a look that serve to warn. "Just carry on. We have a squad stationed here because this is one of our hunting spots. If you don't bother us, we won't bother you. We're all here to do what we can to end this game."

"Fair truce," Smokes said. "I'll be getting on then."

Superior nodded. Korthe was seething but kept control.

"What's the name of this village by the way?"

"Corsea."

Smokes nodded, then led Soldier forward, giving one last yearning glance at the KoB players' boots.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Yo, hope you all enjoyed this short intro to this story. I intend this story to be short, fast paced and fun. I always thought it would be cool to write about a monster hunter character so here he is. I thought it was interesting to write in the perspective of someone in the DDA as normally they get portrayed to be the villains and scums. Not to mention what little screen time they actually had. Honestly, had quite a bit of fun writing this. While I don't have an exact final word count for this story, I estimate at this rate it'll be around 15k words. Please do review and say what you think. I consider this story to be like a practice story, where I am trying a writing style that I think is fun and easy to write with. Next chapter will be up soon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Darkness and Lightning: Part II**

Smokes' first stop was a small barn barely largely than a villa, housing a small herd of mountain goats. He paid the farmer five Cols to stable Soldier and keep him curried and fed with a healthy supply of oats for two days. He unsaddled Soldier, much to the gelding's delight, transferring a great deal of supplies from the saddlebags onto a leather pack—books, his helmet, eating knife, spare clothes. When he was done, the pack weighed almost twenty-five kilos and there were still things left in the saddlebags, which he reckoned he could leave behind for now.

There was no inn in Corsea. Given its remote location, it wasn't hard to imagine why they wouldn't expect much travellers. Smokes managed to negotiate a straw bed in the farmer's house for the price of fifty Cols per night. It was double the price of a good inn in a city, but the farmer was savvy to know that Smokes had little option aside of braving the night out in the cold; who knew NPCs could be so ruthless.

After fifteen minutes of exploring, Smokes had noted down where the blacksmith, leatherworker, village healer, and hunter were. Experience taught him to seek them out first whenever in a new settlement. There wasn't much else to the village. He sketched a small map onto his journal which was expertly bound with a velvet cover inlaid with silver letterings and the papers were thick but smooth.

A bell from the village parish sounded four times, indicating that the time was four o'clock in the afternoon. In cold climate such as this, however, that meant the sun was nearly gone from the sky, and the shadows of huts were nearly double their height. Men and women hurried about lighting the torches planted in the snow outside their homes, illuminating the meagre street that ran down the centre of the village.

Best be getting to work, Smokes thought.

He made his way towards the biggest building he saw, a long hut that was raised six feet off the ground by stilts. A giant brute sat on the steps to the front door, smoking a pipe made of clay from the looks of it. The musty scent wafting through the air told Smokes that it must be some local blend of tobacco, and he hoped it tasted better than it smelled.

"What do you want?" asked the brute as he approached. He had a shaven head that seemed to be cut with a rusty razor, crisscrossed with so many scars that it seemed to form a circular pattern.

"I'm here to see the village elder," said Smokes.

"What for?"

"To talk. Maybe I could do him a favour."

The brute spat some phlegm out, more so to clear his throat than to insult. "Alright, in you go then. Craw's a bit busy, but probably will take the time to hear you out."

Inside, a fire burn strongly in the hearth on the far wall. The chimney must have not been cleaned in a long time as there was little ventilation, and as such smoke drifted along the ceiling of the long room—not so much that it was difficult to breath, but enough to be noticeable. The moisture contained within wooden planks forming the walls made the place feel like a sauna. Smokes didn't mind, however, given the coldness outside. Rugs of bear fur covered the floor from one end to the other. Tapestries made from goat leather hung on pegs, their painting primitive and in limited dyes of blue, red and yellow. Cushions were laid out in vertical rows, except for in the middle where it was clearly a walkway.

Craw sat at the end of the walkway, behind a low desk, with his legs tugged within a plush cushion. He was an elderly man, and what little hair he had left were long, frayed, white, and hanging by his temples. The smile he gave was crooked and almost toothless.

"Oh, a visitor! We don't get many visitors to Corsea."

"I'm an adventurer seeking fame and knowledge," Smokes said.

"An adventurer! The Lord bless you." Craw stood and bowed. "Welcome to our humble village. I am Curn Craw, the village elder. How may I help you, son?"

"I track rare monsters for a living, so if you could point me to one that would be great."

The elderly NPC gave a confused look. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't understand."

Always try the easy approach first, Smokes thought. Too bad it never actually works.

"Never mind. Let's see…what can you tell me about the surrounding land?" Smokes asked. "The people, wildlife, geography, history. Everything you know, I want to know."

"My my, what a curious young man. Everything I know, huh?" Craw rubbed his chin. "That will take a while."

"Time's not a problem for me." Smokes grabbed a cushion and made himself comfortable. He took out his journal and sharpened a pencil with his pocketknife.

Craw sat back down as well, his knees cracking. "Very well, I shall make the time for you. Hmmm, where do I start?" he said. "Let's start with how my people first settled in these mountains…"

An hour went by and still the elderly man gave his speech. Craw spoke about everything; from how the villagers were descended from giants once living in the mountains, to the weather during summer—when the snow melted, and flowers blossomed. The pelts trade was the chief source of income for Corsea, sabretooth's pelts being the most valuable and sort after commodity in the neighbouring cities. Craw even brought out his own cloak made of the material and let Smokes run his hand through it; it was deceptively smooth, mesmerising dark orange in colour. Smokes wondered if he should purchase some for when he heads back; they would fetch a very good price in the main town of this floor.

Smokes jotted down notes for everything he heard. Most players did not bother with the majority of the flavour dialogue NPCs had and could not understand why the Cardinal System had bother to add lines and lines of background information. Smokes did not mind, however. To him, it made Aincrad all the more alive. Exciting. It wasn't a game that he was a stuck in, but rather an entire new world. That gave him purpose to go out each day than to stay within a safe zone.

The topic turned to folk tales and myths the villagers had passed down through the generations. Smokes flipped to a brand-new page. It was here usually that he would hear something useful that might give him a lead to a rare beast. Legends of giant predators and dragons hardly came out of thin air; there couldn't be smoke without fire.

"My people calls the mountain: Mt. Morea, and those who still believe in the old gods thinks that it is the throne of Kirin, the Goddess of Thunder." The words rolled off Craw's tongue dryly, spoken by someone unbelieving. "But many have climbed Morea's peaks, and many have not returned. Those who did, however, reported no signs of the White Mare."

Smokes raised an eyebrow. "The White Mare?"

"It is said that Kirin presents herself in the form of a white horse cloaked in brilliant lightning. Untameable. She goes where she pleases. But alas, no one I know of has actually seen her." Craw's face turned darker. "Once though, we heard deafening thunder striking the peaks of Morea, almost as if a gong was being repeatedly struck for hours. People cowered in their homes. Our livestock scattered and hid in recesses in the mountain. It seemed like the end of the world. That was the only time I believed that there may be a god living in Morea." Craw made a sign as though what he had said was blasphemous.

"That is…interesting, to say the least," Smokes said. "Did anyone climb up to see what happened?"

Craw shook his head. "Every child knows that to climb Morea during a thunderstorm is suicide. You won't find anyone here who has, not even the bravest of us."

"Were you not curious at all?"

"My concern extends only as far as Corsea's furthest hut. What goes on Morea's peaks, with all those sabretooths, frost primates, icy reptiles, are not what I think about when I go to sleep."

Smokes pursed his lips, knowing that Craw would not have any more information on the subject. He stood up. "Well, thank you for your time, Craw. I best be going now."

"I wish you well in your journey, adventurer." Craw touched his forehead in what seemed to be a 'go in peace' gesture.

Outside, the big scarred brute was still on the steps, stuffing fresh tobacco down his pipe. Smokes noticed a massive broadsword that was a hand width wide resting against one of townhall's stilts. How did he miss seeing that earlier?

The brute eyed him but did not say a word.

* * *

It was a tight squeeze around the dinner table for the four of them. The farmer Smokes was staying with was a beefy man with hairy arms and legs, and a growing pot belly. His wife, in contrast, was petite and mousy, with lines on her face speaking of the joys of early motherhood. Their child was barely walking and made a frightful noise every time Smokes gave her a smile. The meal consisted of fish stock porridge, hard bread, and goat cheese. A simple meal, but the farmer's wife kept his bowl filled. And when he was done, they served him a delightful tea, that was surprisingly light with a hint of nutmeg. The exceptional hospitality almost made Smokes forgot that he had gotten ripped off for the price of a bed.

"How are you enjoying our village so far, Mr. Adventurer?" asked the farmer, sipping his own cup of tea.

"Dreadfully dull," said Smokes.

The farmer burst out laughing, spooking his one-year-old who began crying. His wife promptly picked her up. "Sorry, my love!" he cooed before returning his attention back to Smokes. "That's Corsea alright. Anyone who lived here has thought about leaving, once or twice, mostly more. But this is home to our people. Can't just get up and leave, yeah? Though, sometimes I envy you adventurers. Able to go wherever you want. No woman to tie you down." That drew an irate look from his wife.

"It has its perks and drawbacks," said Smokes. "The grass is always greener on the other side."

"I can imagine. Now that I think about it, I would miss home after just a few dozen steps out."

"Adventures are not for everyone, dear," said the wife, still carrying their daughter who had calmed down by now.

"Do you go back to your _home _often, sir?" The farmer looked at him earnestly. "Ever get _homesick_?"

Smokes frowned. Was that a sneer he saw? A cruel joke from Kayaba? He sipped his tea, which tasted bitter now.

Seconds passed in what seemed to be minutes. Smokes played with his Hunter Dragon medallion, running his thumb over the horns of the dragon, feeling it prick his skin. "Some days, I forget about home," he finally admitted, bringing about the confused look NPCs had whenever they do not understand—he did not care.

"Lovely home, you have," he said, suddenly changing subject.

The farmer smiled. "Thank you, sir. May I ask how long you will be staying here for?"

"As long as I need to. Maybe a week?" Smokes shrugged. "Hard to tell from what I found today."

"Stay as long as you like," said the farmer with a smile that carried the unspoken line: 'as long as you are paying.'

"You must be a great warrior, sir," said the wife, eyeing Smokes' scabbarded blade which he had hung by the kitchen door.

Smokes shook his head. "Not a warrior. I don't even consider myself to be a fighter. Although, my job role does require me to engage in the…occasional violence. But I think of myself as a researcher. Someone who reads, studies, and looks for evidence."

"Ah, a man who can read! You're highborn!"

The farmer was suddenly off his seat and bowing, his wife curtsying, while their child stared confusedly at her parents. Smokes felt his cheeks flush. What simple lives they lead, to think that every man with a sword is a warrior and any man who reads a noble.

"No, I'm not," he said, unsure of what else to say.

"A priest?" the farmer questioned.

"No priest carries a weapon," said the wife.

"Just a scholar, nothing more," Smokes said. "Please seat."

The farmer did as told. "My mistake, sir. We don't get many well-learned people around these parts."

"I'm here because I've heard stories about Mt. Morea. Particularly, about Kirin," he tested to see their reactions.

"Old women's tales," said the farmer. "There is as much a god up there as there is goats who shits gold."

"Forgive my husband of his blasphemy," Smokes heard the wife whisper. "Please do not strike him down."

"I would like to investigate anyway," said Smokes. "I might find something interesting."

The farmer shrugged as if to indicate it was no concern of his what other people choose to do. "Go speak with Whirrun then. Used to climb up those peaks regularly. He's seen his fair share of…things."

Smokes raised an eyebrow. "Whirrun?"

"He usually hangs out outside the town hall, smoking his pipe all day. Doesn't do much work."

The big brute with the giant sword came to mind. Should have known that those scars on his head had stories to tell. "Thanks, I'll talk to him."

Smokes finished his tea in one big gulp, refused further servings, and got up, heading for the storage room where they had prepared his bed. He covered the straws with a large linen cloth before jumping on it as if it were a bean bag. Lumpy but better than hard cold ground.

He pulled out his journal, lit a candle, and flipped through the latest entries, reviewing all that he had written today. Besides Craw, he had spoken to several villagers and they all confirmed what the village elder had said; a few weeks ago, there had been thunder on top Mt. Morea's peaks like never before. But this was no new information. He had heard all of this from the town prior coming here; it was what led him to come to Corsea in the first place.

He let out an exhausted breath.

Kirin.

It was only a name, but it was a lead, nevertheless.

Legendary monsters were mobs that are not part of any quest, dungeon, or event. But they were always a part of this world, dwelling in Aincrad's most secretive corners. One will only hear about them in passing, in off-handed remarks made by NPCs or comments written in scrolls or books. You would have to be actively looking to find them. Never will you accidentally run across one. Tracking them required full-time dedication, and the amount of false leads Smokes had encountered was too many to count, but that was the work necessary to be done.

He closed his journal and closed his eyes.

Sleep came quickly enough.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: This chapter is a bit late so I apologise. Thank you to all who have reviewed, favourited and followed so far! Hope you guys will continue to stick with me.

The review by Alarick07 actually hit on the nail in that this story will be episodic in nature. The first few chapter is like an introductory arc to Smokes, which I plan to be 15k words long. The arcs that follow will be the next episodes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes: **Apologies for the wait. I took a bit of time off in July because I had a bunch of things to do in life. When I came back, I just thought to myself that I might as well just go ahead and finish writing the whole story out before posting. So I did just that and the final word count way exceeded what I had originally intended for this story. But it's all good, I'm quite satisfied with what I have. With that said, I recommend reading the first two chapters again just to remind yourself of the story so far before reading this chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

**Darkness and Lightning: Part III**

It was a short walk to the leatherworker's shop; it was a short walk to anywhere in Corsea, really. The leatherworker, a mid-twenties man wearing a thick dirty apron, welcomed him with a gracious smile and Smokes sat down on a stool, raising his boot in the air.

"Can you fix these for me?" Smokes asked.

The leatherworker took one long look, prodding at the gaps in the welts with a finger. "No problem, some holes that just needs filling. You'll have to wait for me to make the glue though."

"I'll wait." Then an idea popped into his head. "Teach me how."

"Teach you to make glue?" Leatherworker asked.

"Yes."

"I'm not a master." The man shrugged. "But even a fool can learn to make glue, so alright. I'll charge you forty Cols for my time."

"Done." They shook.

"It's a really simple process, really," said Leatherworker. He went to the back of the workshop and returned with a small copper kettle. "Grab that bucket filled with old hides, will you? You got a knife? Good. Now trim them to small pieces. Into the kettle."

Dry, raw hide had the property of being bone coloured, and as Smokes cut them into shavings, the leatherworker carried on explaining. "You can use any hide to make glue. Squirrel, goat, horse, you name it. I personally like goat. There's always plenty of those left over that couldn't make it to tanning. But they all stick the same."

Smokes finished trimming. "What's next?"

His glue-making teacher inspected his work, then nodded, apparently satisfied. "We're going to boil these in water. Go fetch one of the buckets outside. They've been collecting melted snow all night and should be full. I'll start the fire."

Smokes hurried outside the shop and, true enough, found one wooden bucket filled to the brim. Its rim was covered in icicles but the water itself was still liquid rather than frozen.

A trio of KoB players walked by at that moment and Smokes caught them glancing at him several times. No doubt word would have spread by now that a DDA member was in town. They carried on with what seemed to be indifference, but Smokes knew that they were highly suspicious of him. His guild had that kind of reputation.

The fire was already lit in the centre of the shop by the time he returned. The copper kettle hung suspended on a wooden tripod. Smokes poured the water into the kettle. Hisses flared as stray droplets fell directly into the fire. It took several minutes for the water to boil before settling down to a simmer.

"Now we let it bubble for an hour or two," said Leatherworker, stirring the contents of the kettle a little. "There's something in animal hide that makes the glue. Boiling the hide breaks it down and we can collect it after."

Smokes nodded, then pulled out his purse, counting forty Cols in bronze coins. "I'll be back later then," he said.

The man took his payment with a bow. "Till then, sir."

Whirrun wasn't outside the townhall as expected, much to Smokes' disappointment. He had hope to follow up on what his host had said last night. Perhaps it was still too early, he thought and headed for the village hunter instead.

The hunter lived on the outskirts, by a small river stream that was really a trickle of water dripping off the side of the mountain. Carcasses of sabretooths, wild boars, and primates stretched impaled on wooden pikes outside his hut, their bellies sliced open and innards emptied. The hunter himself—a weathered man with a hard face, large chest, and bulging forearms—was skinning a deer on a bloodied table in the open air, making smooth strokes with a short knife. A composite bow rested by one of the table's legs.

"Greetings," said Smokes.

"Hey." The hunter did not look up.

"I'm looking to buy some traps. What do you recommend is the best traps for the creatures around here?"

"Where are you looking to hunt?"

"The peaks of Mt. Morea," Smokes said. He saw the hunter visibly pause. "Ever hunted there?"

Hunter shrugged. "Once or twice."

"What's up there?" Smokes had his journal out again.

"Mandrills, packs of them. Frost apes, the size of man. Fangs long as my forearm. They move fast and can burrow under snow to surprise their prey."

"What do you suggest then?"

"Foothold traps. To slow them down. Even better if you can poison the teeth." Hunter nodded to a pile of contraptions laid about haphazardly. The mechanics worked similar to a spring bear trap.

"Not oil-based traps?" asked Smokes.

"Unless you want to burn them to crisp and make their pelts worthless." He shook his head. "Don't do it."

"I understand. How much do you want per trap?"

"If you buy in bulk of fives, ten Cols per bulk."

"I'll take ten then. And lots of ropes."

As Smokes turned to leave with his new purchase in a large sack, Hunter called out, "It's not worth it, going up there. There's something else. Footprints not belonging to any animal I've seen before."

Smokes thought of Kirin, the White Mare. "Hooves?"

The hunter shook his head. "No." A pause. "Fins."

"Fins?"

But Hunter would not say anything more. After several attempts to question what he meant, Smokes gave up and walked back to the village.

He stopped by the blacksmith and bought two ice axes, a grappling hook, and iron studs for his boots. A KoB player with a moustache as straight as an arrow was using the smith's anvil, hammering out an axe head. As he stuck the piece into the burning charcoal of the forge to reheat, he smiled at Smokes. "On a little shopping spree, are we?" he said.

Smokes grinned back. "Helps with the stress."

That drew a laugh. "I'm Angevin. I'm the smith for this KoB's squadron." The player extended his hand.

He took it. "Smokes. Hunter Dragon, DDA."

"So I've heard." Angevin chuckled. He wore a thick leather apron marred by soot marks, underneath which he had a loose brown tunic that was unbuttoned at the top, exposing his large hairy chest. "Found any legendries yet?"

"No, not yet," Smokes said. "Looking to climb the mountain soon. See what I can find there."

"Hence, the grappling hook."

"Yup. Been up there?"

The axe head gleamed a bright orange, indicating that it was hot enough again. Angevin took it out of the forge and back on the anvil. Sparks flew with each strike. "Nope. I'm just a non-combatian. The squad has been up there though, and they saw nothing unusual."

"I see. Ever heard of Kirin then?"

"What, the Goddess of Thunder? Yeah, some of the villagers swears by her name. This mountain is supposed to be her throne, ain't it?"

"Supposedly. Though, if there really is a horse made out of lightning up there, no one has seen it yet. So, the name is the only lead I have so far."

"Well," Angevin said as he thrust the axe head into the forge. "One of our boys told me that they did find a small shrine dedicated to her up on the peak. Nothing unusual about it though, except there's a crazy old hermit who keeps it."

"I'll be sure to check it out anyway. Thanks." Smokes scribbled a note in his notebook.

"Think you'll be lucky to find something?"

Smokes shrugged. "I have that kind of luck. But mostly it's about looking in the right place. Places you wouldn't even think to look. For example, I once tamed a dragon that was charmed to look like a German Shepherd."

"Wait, I know that!" Angevin exclaimed. "Is it at that town on the 28th Floor, where you would find random burnt patches in the crop field?"

Smokes grinned. "The very same. Farmers were also complaining that their clothes were accumulating soot too quickly."

"It was the dog the whole time?"

"Yeah, it wasn't hard to pinpoint it when you realise dogs don't really eat mutton. The cake was when it took off flying when I tried to catch it." Not to mention the near deep-frying Smokes experienced under its breath.

"What happened in the end?"

"Like any story with man's best friend. I gave him food and we played some catch," said Smokes. "Granted, the ball was a goblin's head."

Angevin barked out laughing, almost dropping his hammer. "You're crazy, Smokes."

"Not more than the most of us," said Smokes.

"You know, you're alright. I don't really get this whole KoB-DDA rivalry thing, but you're okay. But then again, I'm not the one bumping head to head with them on the frontlines."

Smokes gave the man his best smile. "My guild doesn't exactly play nice."

Angevin nodded but did not add anything, returning focus to the axe piece he was forging. Smokes reckoned it was time he left and so after a brief survey of the NPC blacksmith's stock of spears and swords—all decent but unspectacular work—he headed back to the leatherworker shop. The smell of boiled hide was putrid, and Smokes held back a gag.

"Welcome back, sir," said Leatherworker. He sat on a stool by the hearth, rubbing grease onto a piece of recently tanned leather. "I reckon it's been long enough. We just need to sift the hide out of the liquid now."

Smokes was handed a skimmer and he carefully removed the pieces of hide from the kettle. The liquid was now a murky brown colour.

Leatherworker stuck a gloved finger inside, scooping a bit of the glue. He pressed his index and thumb together and slowly pulled them apart to test the stickiness. "A few more minutes of bubbling and it should be ready."

Those few minutes went by quickly enough, and the liquid had thickened to a slime.

"And that's how you make glue," said Leatherworker with a smile.

A ring alerted Smokes to a notification, a flashing bulb at the edge of his HUD. He knew it was just the addition of the recipe to make glue to his crafting menu and thus did not bother to check it. "Will you fix my boots now?" he asked.

"Sure, of course."

"And shod these iron studs to the sole."

* * *

It was warm inside Whirrun's house. The dying embers in the hearth at the far wall spoke of a fire just gone out. There were no windows, the only light coming from the doorway Smokes had just entered through. For a second, Smokes thought that no one was home, but then he heard a long, deep exhale and traced the waft of smoke to the big man's lips. Whirrun lounged by a chair covered in wolfskin, feet raised on a stool.

"What are you doing here?" he said. There was no threat in his voice. Just plain indifference to a stranger entering his home.

"I was looking for you. Craw told me where you lived," Smokes said.

"What do you want?"

"Heard you used to climb up to the peaks of Mt. Morea a lot. Seen things, have you?"

Whirrun took another puff. "A long time ago. And maybe."

"What did you do up there?" Smokes asked. He walked further into the room, his foot stepping on an empty flagon; it smelt of wine.

"Was a hired sword." Whirrun nodded at a corner of the room. There, the massive broadsword laid, tossed aside like an old toy. "Many years ago, a mining guild reckoned that Morea held a fortune in ores waiting to be hoarded and sent out a group of explorers out here to see what they can find. And so, hired me to be their guide and protection."

"I didn't see any mines here," said Smokes.

"The expedition failed, that's why."

"Why did it fail?" Smokes pressed. "Was it because they didn't find anything?"

The brute kept quiet.

"Or did something happen?" When the man still did not speak, Smokes took out a pouch, jangling it to show that it was filled with coins. "I'll make it worth your time if you tell me."

Whirrun frowned as if contemplating whether to tell the hunter dragon, then shrugged.

"There's not much to tell really," he said after a pause. "After a few days of surveying, the group found caves full of blue crystals, but these crystals were brittle as hell and wouldn't fetch a dime in the market. However, the lead miner declares that he has a hunch that eventually they'll find much more valuable ones; that they only needed to dig deeper.

"The rest of them bought into that fantasy, and soon they all started getting giddy with all the money they _think _they were gonna make. Bloody idiots."

Smokes pulled up a stool for himself without the invitation while the man continued.

"They became more ambitious. Climbing higher and higher up the mountain, as they started finding more and more crystals. I kept them on well-trodden paths, but they wanted to go off-tracks to see what they could find, so they hated me for that. Then they started sneaking off on their own, thinking they don't need me anymore. Most of the times they came back without a scratch and more useless crystals to show for it. Until one day," Whirrun paused as he inhaled from his pipe. Ghostly swirls of smoke wisped out of his mouth in hollowed circles.

"One guy came back all excited, like really excited. He told his friends about something that I couldn't quite hear, and they all got excited. Must have found something cause' the next day, half of the group disappeared off somewhere. And they never came back, not one of them." Whirrun shook his head at the memory. "So, the rest of us went out looking for them. We searched everywhere, and still could not find them. The most we found were some footprints on the peaks, but that was that. After two weeks, we gave up. The rest went home soon enough. Haven't heard from since. That's all to it."

"You never tried looking for those missing after?" Smokes asked.

That raised an eyebrow. "Why? It's clear that they're all dead."

"A group of people don't just disappear like that."

"For all I know, they got what was coming to them. All kinds of beasts live on Mt. Morea's peaks. You just don't go off exploring on your own unless you know how to carry yourself in a fight."

"Wouldn't you find at least the bodies though?" Smokes insisted.

Whirrun snorted—an ugly noise out of his big nose. "They could have just fallen off the mountain into some deep recess where no living thing can hope to reach. I don't know. I really don't care. It was a long time ago."

Smokes nodded, scribbling it all down on his notebook. He rubbed his chin, feeling the stubble that he had neglected to shave. "And has anyone else hired you to take them up the mountain since?"

The big brute shook his head. "No, I refused to take people up there after the incident. What is there to do up there anyway? Except for the caves with all the crystals the miners found. You know that's the funny thing, those folks probably died for crystals that were just good for dust." He barked out a laugh—a grim, twisted laugh. "The lead miner even speculated that deep within the mountain he might find El Duradar—every miner's dream of a cavern full of the rarest ores. Guess he met a fitting end chasing after his fantasy." More laughter rang out.

Smokes, thinking he'd heard enough, decided it was time to change topic. "Thanks, Whirrun." He tossed the promised coin pouch over.

Whirrun took a few moments to settle down. "We done here?"

"Not quite." Smokes smiled and then produced another coin pouch. "What do you think about the Kirin?"

"The White Mare? Never seen it. Never believed she existed," he said. "There's all kind of wildlife up there, but not a horse that zaps lightning out of its arse crack. Can you imagine, a horse up that high, in air so thin, and below freezing temperatures? Impossible."

"Stories can be stretches," admitted Smokes. "But what about the big thunderstorm a few weeks ago? What's your take on that?"

"No idea. A natural phenomenon that happens once in a lifetime? God knows." He took another puff.

"Did you go check it out?" Smokes asked.

"What, during the thunderstorm? Hell no. I don't have a death wish," said Whirrun, but then he lowered his voice, almost as if he were about to whisper a conspiracy. "But I did climb up after."

"And what did you find?" Smokes pressed.

"The place was empty, which was expected. The storm probably scared all the creatures into hiding. Debris everywhere. The lightning must have struck the rocks hard. But also…"

Whirrun suddenly stood up, startling Smokes that he almost fell off his stool. The brute walked to a strongbox beside the hearth, producing a key from his pocket. The lock clicked and the lid swung open. Whirrun reached inside and brought out a folded cloth stained with dirt and soot.

"I found this." He unfolded the cloth, revealing a worm-like thing the size of a hand, all shrivelled up, and, evidently, dead.

"It's just a worm—" Smokes' words froze in his mouth as a bright light emitted briefly across the pale grey skin of the thing. "What is that?"

"No idea," said Whirrun. "But there's lightning infused inside it."

"How?"

"I don't know, but when I found it, it was inside the body of a mandrill, eating it. And the scary thing? The mandrill was still alive, only paralyzed."

Smokes felt his neck tingle. "Paralyzed?"

"I could tell the mandrill was still alive because its eyes were still moving. What I reckon is that this worm here was continuously zapping it. Not potent enough to electrocute it, but strong enough to keep it stun while it eats the flesh."

"A parasitoid," said Smokes.

"A what?" Whirrun gave him a strange look.

"Basically, something that finds a host and lives off it until they mature into adults and kills the host. Like in _Alien_," Smokes said, then bit his tongue as he almost forgot he was talking to an NPC. "In this case, it seems that the parasitoid paralyzed its prey and injected its youngs, for them to feed it off as a source of nutrients."

Whirrun nodded as if he understood. "Sounds like a slow and painful death."

"Very. And there's nothing the host can do about it. This begs a question though."

"What?"

Smokes stared at the worm—no, it was a larva. "If this is the baby," he paused.

"Then who is the mother?"

* * *

**Author's Notes: **A pretty slow chapter, but the pace will pick soon enough. I think what I'll do is I will post a new chapter daily rather than post the whole story now. That way I can still do some edits. And also respond to feedback. So for those who've been waiting, sorry again, but just bear with me for a few days.


	4. Chapter 4

**Darkness and Lightning: Part IV**

Smokes kicked the ground once—twice—thrice. Each time the newly added studs to his boots drilled through snow and caught onto earth, showing good grip. The leatherworker did his work well.

The high mountain pass laid steeply before Smokes, a trail of many footprints leading to the peak. Yesterday, he had observed the KoB players coming to and fro this pathway—some of them worse for wear on the return journey—and he reasoned that this was where their training grounds were. Curiosity made him wonder why of all places would the KoB choose here. The so-called strongest guild of Aincrad had an extraordinary knack for finding the most efficient hunting spots in each floor, allowing their players to gain level advantages over their rivals. Smokes knew that for many months now DDA intelligence officers had been trying to find out the reason why this was so, even going so far as to try bribing some KoB members to reveal their secret, but has thus far come up with nothing. The scarlet knights simply just knew where to train. Almost as if they had a GM telling them where to look.

Smokes started up the pass, walking through the bare trees and stunted undergrowth. Every now and then he would hear the sounds of mountain goats and sheep trotting alongside with him. They were of no concern to him, though he still kept his ears on the alert and hand on his hilt. It might be that one of these sheep may turn out to be a wolf.

The slope levelled into a white plain of snow and smooth rocks.

"Switch!" a cry went out.

A heavy mist obscured much of Smokes' vision and he cupped his hands round his eyes in an effort to shield them.

"Spears, get ready to flank. Wait hold it—now!"

A discord of squeals came from multiple directions.

"Herd them! Keep them in the middle."

Smokes followed in the direction of the voice. It sounded familiar. Glints of metal shone through the mist, as he picked out the shapes of a group of players. He counted fifteen of them, all spread in a large circular formation, shepherding a pack of Popos—bison-like animals—towards the middle. Any stray Popo attempting to make a break for it was met with blades and turned right back.

"Enclose!" shouted a man who Smokes recognized as Superior, having met him on the first day he arrived in Corsea.

He stood a step within the circle's perimeter and at the sound of his voice, all those wielding spears—about half of the squad—edged forward, jabbing and prodding. The Popos shrunk back huddling each other, squealing in fear at the approaching steel tips. A few had already been badly wounded, their dark blood crafting shallow rivers in the snow. Up closer, Smokes could see that these animals were actually twice the size of a regular bison, with longer horns and thicker manes.

"Halt!" Superior called. The spearmen stopped but kept their weapon in guard. "Archers." The remaining half of the squad came forward with their bows drawn to their ears. "Loose."

The symphony of cries and wails echoed to the peaks of the mountain as arrow heads punched through hide, flesh, and bone. There was no respite for the beasts; as soon as one volley struck home, another was sent on its flight. However, the Popos did not go down easily. Smokes saw one still standing even after being peppered with so many arrows that it looked like a humongous porcupine.

Then, one Popo roared so loud that the archers visibly paused and before they could nock again, it charged straight at the closest spearman. The player baulked briefly but held his ground with the vaunted discipline of the KoB. His spear pierced through the skull of the rushing Popo, however it did little to slow the speed and strength of the charge. His chest plate caved inwards underneath a horn and he was flung back a dozen meters. He crashed to the ground with a heavy thud and instantly began coughing blood.

Several arrows struck into the enraged beast's flank and it gave one last roar before collapsing.

Smokes ran towards the fallen player. "I got him!" he shouted to Superior.

Superior gave the barest of acknowledgement that he heard Smokes. "Formation! Formation! Riken, close up!"

Once Smokes confirmed they were out of the danger zone, he pulled out a health potion from his belt. The wounded player took the vial with a nod of thanks, chugging immediately. As he did so, Smokes helped unbuckle the broken chest plate. Angevin is going his hands full repairing this, he thought. The player's inner clothes were stained heavily with blood, and his difficulty in breathing spoke of multiple broken ribs. Smokes reckoned that he would be two days out of action in order to recover.

The remaining Popos began falling like dominoes—some down to standing on only two legs—their will to live seemingly extinguished. Superior called a halt to the volleys and ordered a general assault. The archers dropped their bows and drew gladiuses before rushing in with the spearmen. They stabbed the last Popos in their necks, promptly putting the beasts out of their misery.

When it was all over, Superior called, "Collect your arrows."

The players took out small knives, digging out the arrowheads from the Popos' flesh. One archer supervised the whole process, separating the retrieved arrows into two piles; one with those with which can be reused, and another with those which had to be discarded because of damage.

"Can you help get my spear?" Smokes heard the wounded player ask.

He looked around him and found the weapon still embedded in the dead Popo's head, between its horns. The shaft was broken into two, the bottom half dangling by only a splinter.

"It's broken," he said.

"That sucks." The player tried to push himself up but grimaced in pain.

"Looks like your arm is broken too."

"That sucks too."

A shadow suddenly fell over Smokes and he looked over his shoulder to find Superior standing before him.

"Thanks for looking after my man," Superior said. His hair was matted with sweat and he was carrying his helmet by his side.

"Eh, contrary to popular belief, not all DDA personnel are arseholes," Smokes said with a grin. "Though I'm not saying I'm not one."

Superior showed no reaction. "Thanks anyway. I'll take it from here. Healer!" Another player came running, snapping to attention. "Take Denshi back to Doc."

"Yes, sir!"

"Tis but a scratch, captain," said Denshi as he was helped to his feet.

"Alright, we're hunting again in fifteen minutes. You're back in the front."

"On second thought, I might need a break."

"Thought so."

Smokes watched them hobble slowly back towards the path down to Corsea. When he returned his attention back, he noticed Superior had already stalked off. He hurried after the veteran clearer.

"Ten minutes to harvest the mats, then we're moving out again," Superior called out to his men.

The KoB squad had already begun skinning the Popos and cutting out their horns. They worked brutally efficient and before long there was a cart piled high with hide.

"So the KoB's here to farm Popos, huh?" said Smokes. "Good choice for mats. Their hide makes excellent leather. Their manes, brilliant cloaks. The horns fetch a good price in markets. Popo tongues is a good substitute for some key ingredients in many high-quality potions. Oh, and not to mention what you can make with their testicles."

Superior stopped in his tracks suddenly, then shook his head. "Nah, I don't even want to know," he said.

Just then, Smokes caught the eyes of another familiar player. The other guy who he had met on his first day here. Eyebrow, or if Smokes remembered his name correctly, Korthe.

"What are you doing here?" growled Korthe, approaching. He did not sheathe his sword, Smokes noticed.

"Here to spy on you lot." He meant it as a joke, but the flat expression on both Korthe and Superior showed that it was clearly lost on them. "Was just scouting my way up the mountain peak. But then saw you guys and got curious," he answered truthfully.

"Just go back to hunting your unicorn. We ain't got the time to deal with you."

"I intend to. Don't need your dumbass telling me that." He didn't need to add the insult, but he wanted to. The flash of anger across Korthe's face brought him satisfaction. "But just wanted to voice some observations first."

"What is it?" Superior asked.

Smokes walked up to a nearby Popo's corpse, running a hand through the now exposed muscles and flesh. "From what I saw, there is actually a more efficient way to hunt these creatures. Don't get me wrong, you guys are already doing a great job, but I think there's a simpler and easier solution."

"And you're just going to tell us for free?" said Korthe, rolling his eyes.

"Exactly. Because I don't want to see another player almost killed like what happened just now. Popos are mostly docile animals, but one shouldn't underestimate them when they're backed into a corner. Their size and strength aren't to be taken lightly. Your tactic of herding them together into a death trap of arrows is smart and efficient, but it's exactly the conditions which would cause them to go enrage."

"What do you suggest then?" asked Superior.

"Come on, sir, you can't be seriously listening to this guy," complained Korthe. "He even admitted he's not a frontliner."

Smokes interjected, "No, I'm not. But I do know a lot about mob behaviour; I'm not a Hunter Dragon for nothing. Anyway, I always like the simple solution." He drew his dagger and pointed at the Popo's eyes, which were spread quite far apart in the head. "If you notice, their eyes are on the sides of their head and not facing forward."

"So?" Superior crossed his arms.

"So, it means that they don't have good forward vision and if you've also noticed, they tend to lower their head when moving. The combination of these two factors makes me think that they don't really know where they are going when they are charging," said Smokes. "In a lot of ways, Popos' behaviour very resembles that of a bull, buffalo or bison. They're rather social creatures, inhabiting herd mentality. So, what is the most effective way of hunting them?" He paused. "Buffalo jumps."

Korthe snorted. "What are you saying?"

Smokes smiled. "The idea is simple. You get the buffalos—or in this case, the Popos—moving towards a cliff's edge then scare them and they will jump off to their death as though you just gave them a free pass to heaven."

"That's the dumbest shit I've heard," said Korthe.

Smokes sheathed his dagger. "Ever heard of a place called Ulm Piskun in the USA? It's a one-mile long cliff which the Native Americans have been using it for thousands of years to hunt bison. I reckon you people can do the same here. Herd the Popos, subtly drive them towards a cliff edge, then scare them into a stampede off the mountain, and then profit."

He watched Superior's expression carefully, but the veteran did not show any signs of approval. A well-practiced poker face if anything, Smokes thought, he should learn to do the same.

"Sir, he's just wasting our time. No way a plan like that would work here," Korthe said.

"I would bet everything I own that it would," said Smokes.

Superior cleared his throat. "Smokes, have you actually tried this plan of yours?"

He shook his head. "Never had the chance. But it's been near the top of my bucket list to see if something like a buffalo jump is possible in this world."

"Then unfortunately I don't have the time to spend testing out your theory," said Superior. He turned to face the rest of his squad. "Five more minutes! We're going further up the mountain. I want us to be in position before the next spawns."

"Doesn't hurt to experiment a little, especially when the upside is so much," Smokes argued.

Superior rounded on him so suddenly that Smokes had to take a step back. "Smokes, I don't know how things are done in the DDA, but here in the KoB we don't believe in wasting time. Every minute counts, especially for those of us on the frontlines." He stared into Smokes' eyes for a long moment, and Smokes saw that there was no messing about with this man. "Now, I think it's better you leave."

Smokes nodded. "I think so too."

"Get out of here then," sneered Korthe.

Smokes thought to retort, but then decided against it. He had his job to do. Plus, there was always more opportunities to get back later.

* * *

Morea's Face was what the locals called the hundred-meter-tall rock face that one must climb to reach the eventual peak. Two rock shelters spread several dozen feet apart marked the Eyes, a snow-laden spur the Nose, and the Mouth a deep ridge lined with icicles for teeth. Were this not a video game, Smokes would have had a hard believing this was a design of nature. Really does make one wonder whether a god does live up there, he thought.

He checked that his sack and sword was fastened tightly to his back, adjusting the straps once more for added assurance. Then he picked up the rope bundled at his feet and scanned his surroundings. First things first before climbing was to find a suitable anchor. He chose the biggest, most stable-looking tree he saw. He looped the rope round the trunk four times before tying the best knot he knew, tugging to ensure that it did not come loose. The grappling hook he bought would be useless, as there was no way he could throw it up a hundred meters high.

With the other end of the rope attached to his belt, he went back towards the rock face. He looked up, planning his approach, and gulped.

"I've climbed higher," he tried telling himself. Though, it was in milder weather conditions and not so vertical a slope.

The fear was there alright. But it was always there. Fear was not something to avoid, but to conquer. Smokes took a deep breath and pushed aside all other thoughts with a meditation on the first few lines of Darwin's Origin of Species: "…that mystery of mysteries, as it has been called by one of our greatest philosophers." Not quite something one would think of before embarking on a task with the possibility of falling to a gruesome death, but Smokes always managed to find the certain calm he needed whenever pondering over his hero's words.

He let out the breath and drew his ice axes, looping the leashes round his wrists, and drove them into the rocks. The front spikes on the tips of his boots dug in, finding brace. One arm after another, he pulled himself up Morea's Face, giving the Mouth a wide berth for the ice gathered there made the area difficult and slippery. Luckily for him, it seemed that the KoB had left a series of hooks from the time they had scaled the mountain, allowing for Smokes to simply attach his rope to them for additional safety and grip.

The sun bore down at his back. At this altitude, what little skin he had exposed open would easily be sunburnt. The thought flirted in his head for several seconds before he returned his full attention to getting the next step up.

Probably twenty minutes passed before he reached the left Eye of the cliff face. There, he climbed inside for a brief rest. The temptation to look down was overwhelming, to see how far he had come, but he resisted. So instead, he focused on how much further he had to go. Another dozen and a half meters of the 'forehead'.

There was actually a tunnel at the back of the cave, just big enough for an average sized man to crawl through. Curiosity tugged at him to explore further but then he decided against it. For now, he was contented with being shielded from the wind and so he ate some pieces of dried beef he had brought along for lunch.

The clouds were at eye-level to him, and he could not see much beyond. But then suddenly, a gust of strong wind blew, and the clouds parted like the Red Sea. The icy tundra of the Forty-fifth-Floor laid spread before him in its full magnificence. Where the snow had not touched, he saw pockets of settlements, the iconic rounded gers of herders seeming like buns on the plains. He imagined the black dots—too far and too small for him to identify—racing across the land to be wolves hunting after reindeers. There were no birds in the sky at this season, though Smokes wondered how exactly they migrated to warmer floors.

In the far distance, where the ground gave way to a deep valley, he managed to catch smoke rising out into the air. There, he knew was the town of Karak stood. If he squinted, he could _just_ see the spire of the Sworn Cathedral. He found it curious that while this state did have an official religion, remote villages such as Corsea still housed various older, and more primitive beliefs.

The clouds came back as soon as they left, blocking him from further view. Smokes let out a sigh. It was moments like that which had passed that made him doubt whether he actually wanted to leave this world. There was just so many things he wanted to explore. Back in the real world, the most he saw each day was within the six-by-six cubicle that was his office.

He pushed the thoughts away. A thought for another time, he told himself and scrooched out to the edge of the cave, drawing his ice axes again.

The rest of the climb took barely ten more minutes, and Smokes pulled himself over the ledge, flopping rather clumsily onto the snow. He pushed himself up before the coldness could get to him. It was possible to catch a cold in Aincrad, and the result was not pleasant.

He unattached the rope from his belt and tied it round a rock that seemed sturdy enough. He would simply be able to rappel down on his way back later.

The area before him was just filled with broken rocks and bare of all things other. No trees, no undergrowth, and definitely no Kirin. From the information he had gathered, apparently he should be looking out for some electrocuting thing with dolphin fins that injects its younglings into apes. Yeah, monster hunting can be absolutely ridiculous at times.

He drew his longsword, a deadly shrill ringing in the air. Best to have a weapon in hand whenever in a place where you're unfamiliar with.

He was not quite at Morea's highest point—that would require another thirty meters climb up. But he reckoned he would see what he could find here first. He walked along the edge, the drop off just to his right. Just Whirrun had said, there were debris everywhere, pieces of rocks blasted apart by the thunderstorm. Past a giant boulder that had a deep crack right in the middle, he came upon a relatively flat landing grazed by Popos. With their hooves, they dug deep under the snow to feed on the frozen mountain grass. How did creatures that big get up here in the first place, Smokes had no idea.

There must be some easier path up here down the other side of the mountain, he thought.

As he moved to get a closer look, his boot stepped on ground that felt odd. Before he could react, a paw shot out and grabbed his ankle.

"Shit!"

A mandrill jumped from under the snow, pulling Smokes off balance. He kicked, swung his sword, felt it connect, and then his leg was free once again and he scrambled to his feet.

The mandrill, also known as a frost ape, whimpered at the slash it received at its shoulder, its dark blood splattered across the ground. But then its eyes refocused on Smokes, and it howled.

Two more mandrills jumped out of the snow around Smokes, baring their fangs as they circled him.

An ambush. Sneaky monkeys.

He edged towards the cliff, all the while keeping his eyes on the closest ape. When faced with multiple opponents, use the terrain to cover your back. The lessons he had learnt during DDA basic training still rang loud in his head.

The mandrill on the left pounced. Smokes swung his blade upwards from a low guard. The ape leapt back rather than commit to the attack, just as the one on the right struck. Smokes let his vambrace soak the claw and kicked out. The iron spike on his boot drew blood, but not much. All three mandrills backed up a little, eyes hungry on him. The village hunter was right—they are fast—he thought.

The traps which he had bought were in his sack, but he doubt he had the time to set them up. He took a step to the side to test the mandrills' reactions—they mimicked him. There was no weaselling out of this it seemed. Oh well, he thought. When in doubt, attack.

He shot forward, longsword rising out of the low guard once again. The one in the middle was his target—the one which he had cut the shoulder. The ape screeched as it leaped back, while its two companions jumped onto Smokes' flanks. Smokes turned his rising blade into a spinning cut to the left and shaved through a limb and jaw. The mandrill did not so much as whimper as the top half of its head rolled cleanly off the cliff, its body collapsing in the snow.

Two great weights crashed onto Smokes' back and he fell forwards. Claws reached for his face and a long scratch stung his cheeks to intolerable pain. He raised his left arm to try to ward, but one of them bit down on it as if he had just presented it to it. Smokes cried out. The mandrill's fangs mauled through the hard leather of his vambrace like it was piece of garbage. Somehow, he managed to get his off hand to grab the halfway point of his blade—so that he held it like a spear—and he thrust into the mandrill's side.

The pressure immediately relented and, rising to his knee, Smokes threw one of the apes over his shoulder. Before it could recover, Smokes sent it off the cliff with a spartan kick. The ensuing howl echoed long before it got quiet.

The last mandrill cowered away, limping as fast as it could, its side leaking profusely from where Smokes had stabbed it. All the fight in it seemed to have fled as only fear remained in its eyes. Smokes was tempted to let it get away but then saw that the wound was mortal. Probably pierced the liver, he thought and chased the ape down, driving his sword point through the back of its neck. Better to put it out of its misery now than let it suffer a slow death.

He dusted himself and wiped the blood off his blade on the mandrill's pelt. His left vambrace looked like a dog's chew toy, bite marks everywhere. He took it off and wrapped his forearm with some bandages; thankfully, there was not much blood, for the fangs did not penetrate far. His cheeks were stinging, especially with the wind constantly blowing against.

The Popos had fled to the other side of the mountain landing after seeing the mandrills. Smokes squatted down to examine the holes in which the apes had jumped out of. With grudging respect, he saw the ingenuity of it. They had dug and hid themselves until an unsuspecting prey such as himself came along, with their white fur making them almost indistinguishable in the snow. "Smart buggers," he said to himself.

A low rumble grumbled from above. On edge as he was, he swung his longsword up into a high guard. Nothing jumped at him, however, and he instead saw that the clouds had turned suddenly dark, the low rumble sounding again. Another blizzard. He lowered his blade just as the wind began to race, slurs of snow blowing around him.

He pulled his vambrace back on and trudged on to find a place to lay low for the time being.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Now we're getting to the part of the story where I like more. Please write a review, I'd like to hear all your thoughts. I'll welcome any criticisms. See you all tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

**Darkness and Lightning: Part V**

The blizzard was relentless in its attacks, blinding with its swirling curtains, deafening with its howling cries. It had taken all but ten minutes for the world around Smokes to turn into a sheet of icy white hail that shut out any form of sunlight. Every step he took felt heavier, encumbered by the residual carpeting underfoot. He hugged closely to the mountain side, thinking it would help shield him from the worse of the wind. It didn't.

Shelter. Smokes saw it in a cave fifty paces ahead. Calling it a cave was actually generous; it was really a large chunk of rock taken out of the side of a cliff. But it would serve to provide relief from the weather's onslaught. The hunter dragon slipped in, the ground an icy sludge but far better than the ankle-deep trudge he'd just experienced outside.

"Welcome! Welcome!" a croaky, yet cheery voice came out of one dark corner.

Smokes all but jump, sword already in hand and falling to instinctive high guard to cover his head.

"Don't need to be scared. I won't hurt you. No, I won't. Hold on, let me start a fire."

Several moments passed before a fire spawned out of the middle of the cave, the warmth driving back the coldness Smokes felt in every bone in his body. As Smokes' eyes accustomed to the new source of light, he began to see the form of a hunch-over elderly man squatting by the firepit; he wore a cloak so threadbare that he might as well not wear it, and underneath he had on tunic and pants holes big enough for Smokes to see the malnourishment. Smokes also noticed a sleeping bag by the man's bare feet, dirtied and stained beyond cleaning.

"Make yourself a home," the elderly man said with a smile that revealed more missing teeth than not. "I don't get a lot of visitors."

On the far wall, where the cave ended in an abrupt end, an idol made of clay stood on top a small wooden table. Two unlit candles, melted till only about half a ruler's length, stood guard by the idol's flanks. The idol itself was more of a blob than anything Smokes could think of, with parts clearly misshapen by the creator's hands, and he was having a hard time figuring what exactly it was supposed to be. It was mostly painted grey, except for the top—Smokes presumed to be the head—which was bluish-white. It had two large hands (or maybe wings?) that were almost equal in size to the body. The back of idol tapered off into a tail.

Smokes looked back at the elderly man and realized this was the crazy hermit which Angevin had mentioned. Which meant, this place was supposedly the altar to Kirin. He sheathed his blade.

"Nice weather out there," he tried as a conversation starter.

"Shuuuush, stop shouting!" Hermit hissed, pressing a slimy hand over Smokes' mouth.

Smokes shoved the man away, his anger flaring, wiping his face where the man had touched him; Hermit's fingers had been black with dirt or something worse. He snapped, "What?"

"Don't need to shout. Use your inside voice," Hermit spoke softly and slowly.

Smokes made a face. He'd spoken in his normal conversation volume. "What are you sayin—"

Hermit's hand came up to cover Smokes' mouth again, but this time the hunter dragon was ready, and he caught it by the wrist. "Try and touch one more time, and I'll break your whole arm," he whispered.

The elderly suddenly grinned. "There we go. That's the voice. Nice and normal." He pulled his hand back, rubbing at his wrist.

Understanding, Smokes whispered again, "Like this?"

"Yes, you got it," Hermit said.

"Why?"

Hermit's eyes widened as if shocked. "What do you mean why? Do you always shout when you talk? Shouting is rude. Just speak normally."

"I was," Smokes said, confused.

"No, you were shouting."

Seeing that there was no point in arguing with a crazy person, Smokes decided to abandon that line of questions. "You worship Kirin?" he asked, indicating towards the altar.

"You don't?"

Smokes shook his head.

Hermit gave a croaky chuckle. "I knew it. I can smell it from you."

"Smell?"

Hermit pinched his nose. "You stink."

"I stink?" Smokes was offended. He sniffed the air in front of him, then frowned. It smelt as bad as a mad man with no sense of personal hygiene who lives by himself up in a place far from any source of running water could be.

"Those who know Kirin would have known to wash themselves before coming here," Hermit said.

"Wash with what? Your own shit?" Smokes growled, then realized he was getting worked up over an NPC. He glanced outside, where the blizzard still raged, the winds howling like wolves in the night. How long would he be stuck in here?

"Your scent is too strong. Kirin hates that," said the elderly man.

Smokes rolled his eyes. "Oh, and how would you know what Kirin hates?"

"Oh, I just know." The man giggled. "She'll come looking for you."

"Good. I want her to find me. Saves me a lot of trouble," Smokes responded. "I'll gut the White Mare into fresh horse meat."

Hermit gasped. "You're an imbecile," he said as if he made a great realization.

"And you," Smokes said, "are a piece of program whose script Kayaba obviously wrote when he was high as a kite."

That put an end to the crazy old man's talk, as his face melted into confusion. A silence settled between the two of them, and Smokes took the moment to look around the cave, hoping to find something that might aid his search. But besides the crude altar and the hermit's belongings, there was nothing else noteworthy.

"Anyway," he said to Hermit, "since you know so much about Kirin, where can I find her?"

A grin replaced the confused look on Hermit's face. "Oh no, no, you don't find her. She finds you."

"And why can't I find her?" Smokes questioned.

"Because you can't see!" Hermit laughed as if he made the most hilarious joke. "_We_ all can't see. Those who can't see live in darkness, don't you agree? But you talk too loud, and you smell bad, so she'll find you."

Smokes frowned. The man was making no sense, and Smokes reckoned that if he continued talking to the crazy hermit, he would end up with more questions than answers. He sighed, and wondered whether this really was just a wild goose chase that would lead to a dead end. It was still too early to tell. The thunderstorm a few weeks ago, the fin-like footprints, the missing miners, the larva that emits electricity, and now riddles from a man so lost in his head that Smokes was tempted to just run out into the blizzard than spend a moment longer in his presence. Too many pieces of a puzzle, and not a single clue on how to connect them together. He was beginning to see what a headache this was all going to be.

But if his entire career as a Hunter Dragon had taught him anything, it was this: that if he was not finding what he wants…

…then he was simply not looking at the right places.

* * *

The beer was surprisingly smooth, a village blend that was creaming with foam. Smokes chugged down his second pint, smacking his lip with satisfaction. It had been nearly sundown by the time Smokes had gotten back to Corsea, and the only thing he wanted then was a drink.

It had taken an hour before the blizzard finally settled down, and during that time he had to sit and listen to Hermit ramble about the medicinal properties of Popo's faeces—or, as Hermit had put it, Popo poo. When he finally got out of that cave, he was both enlightened and disgusted. He wasn't sure how much he could trust the information, but he scribbled everything down anyway onto his notebook; so distracted as he was, he almost ran into another mandrill ambush, but he'd gotten eye for picking the potential hiding spots and prepared foothold traps accordingly.

"I see that you like the beer. The only redeeming quality about this shithole," said Angevin as he appeared with a tankard of his own in hand. "Mind if I join?"

Smokes gestured to the open seat across him. "Feel free."

The KoB smith sat down. "Heard you were there today when Denshi got hurt."

"An enraged Popo is one of the last things I want to stand in front," Smokes said. "Trust me, he got off lucky with just some broken bones."

"Yeah, my squadron has been here for almost two weeks now. Denshi wasn't the first to get hurt. No deaths, thankfully. Our captain is a good guy, does his best to keep our boys safe, knows which risks are acceptable and which are not." Angevin suddenly leaned in, lowering his voice. "But you know, I heard that some of our guys are not taking too kindly to your presence on our hunting ground today. Say that you're here to spy on us for the DDA, perhaps even sabotage."

"I see." The tavern girl filled his tankard and he took a sip out of it. "Well, it's no secret that my superiors would definitely like to hear about this place. Popos are quite rare to find in such large herds. But it's not like my guild is going to fight you guys for just a bunch of oversized buffalos. No, I'm just here to do my job."

Whether Angevin believed him or not, Smokes could not tell as the man hid his expression behind a gulp of his tankard. "Just giving you a heads up that you might have made some enemies without realizing it."

Smokes shrugged. "Eh, sometimes it's not about what you do, but who you represent," he said. "My fellow guild members' common practices are…definitely questionable. And in some instances, some might say they indirectly caused harm to some players. So, I can understand why some people are wary whenever we're in town. But personally, I think a lot of rumours about us are exaggerated. We like playing the villains, but we want to clear this game as much as everyone here."

The smith nodded and downed his drink, tipping his tankard to show that it was empty. "Ah, guild politics is not for me. I'm gonna get another drink."

Smokes watched the man go and briefly considered getting a fourth filling as well but knew that he best be getting back to work. He had climbed the southern face of the mountain this morning, so he would now need to gather more info on the north face. He left some copper coins on the table and headed back towards Whirrun's house.

It was past the village manor that Smokes noticed he was being followed. There were three of them and they made no effort to hide themselves. That meant they were looking for a confrontation. He recognized the middle one as Korthe, simply because of his eyebrows—they were all furrowed up in anger now. One of his companions wore a brown hat, while the other had thick oversized boots.

He stopped and faced them. "Got a problem?"

Korthe spoke up, "Yeah, you. Time for you to leave this place."

"And you're going to do what exactly? Go orange?" Smokes kept his hand away from his hilt though. Give them a reason to attack and they will, he thought.

"No, but you can very well be sure that we'll make your life hell here if you stay," said Brown Hat.

"We don't need no DDA spy," Thick Boots said.

"I've kept mostly out of you people's way," argued Smokes. "Just let me do my job and I won't bother you."

"Why are you speaking to our smith then? Trying to get him to spill info?"

"Why don't you ask Angevin? Just small talk, it gets boring without another sane person to talk to." He thought back to the conversation he had with Hermit and shuddered.

"Just leave, Smokes. There're no legendries here, if that's what you really are here for. You're wasting your time and, more importantly, ours," said Korthe.

"No, I'm not wasting my time. And as for yours," Smokes shrugged, "like I give a fuck about that."

The blade came out Korthe's scabbard and the point aimed at Smokes' chest. Smokes did not flinch, however. "I'm going to make it clear: I don't like you. I don't trust any one of you DDA scum. You all are just bunch of elitist twats, thinking you're the best when everyone thinks otherwise. You guys are not even fit to help me put on my harness. So I don't know what made you think you could come here and have the balls to try to tell us how to do things. No, you don't know shit."

"Funny how you somehow manage to both call us out for being elitist and become guilty of be one as well."

The point came closer. "But the thing is, I can back my words up. I'll fucking prove it right now in a duel. You win, and you can do whatever the hell you want. I win, you get the fuck out of here tonight."

Smokes raised an eyebrow. He noticed how the KoB player was now less restrained with Superior not around. "Or I could just refuse and continue doing what I want."

At that, Brown Hat and Thick Boots fanned out and took up positions by his sides.

"We'll forcibly hit the accept button if we have to," said Korthe.

Smokes sighed. Oh, how he hated being around people sometimes; one of the many reasons he works solo. He observed the KoB player; half a head taller, the more seasoned fighter, better quality armour. His chances in a duel with him wasn't looking too great. But it was not like he had a choice. "Fair enough. I'll accept.

Korthe had a grin on his face now. "Thought you would. Let's get this over—"

Smokes held up a hand. "Not right here though. Too many people around. I'm guessing you don't exactly have your captain's approval to do this. I also don't want to be stepping on his toes, especially since he gave me the warning not to cause any trouble."

"You'll be gone after tonight anyway," said Korthe, but he looked around sheepishly as if he expected to see Superior just around a corner.

"He seems like a hard man. I rather not cross him."

His three adversaries exchanged a look between each other.

"The captain did say to leave him alone," said Thick Boots.

"That wasn't a direct order though," Brown Hat argued.

"Does it matter? You know he's gonna chew us out."

Korthe sheathed his sword. "Fine, we'll go somewhere else then."

He made Smokes walked to the outskirts of the village. They tried to act as natural as possible, as if they were just a couple of friends out for an evening stroll. But between Korthe's hand on his hilt and Thick Boots constant shiftiness, Smokes knew they all stood out like sore thumbs. He had half the mind to escape and find Superior for help, but he wasn't sure that the KoB captain would take up his side. So for now, he reckoned he would just bide his time.

"We need to go further away than here," said Brown Hat. "They can still hear us once the fighting starts."

"I know that," growled Korthe.

They headed towards a mountain pass which Smokes recognized even under the fading light. And when his three assailants were distracted by a fox scurrying between the trees, he thought that it was now or never. He shoved Korthe into the snow and then made a dash up the slope.

"Fucking coward! Get him!" roared Korthe, picking himself.

Smokes took off his sword belt and gripped it by hand so that it freed him better for running. A hazard glance behind showed his pursuers struggling to climb up the slope due to their heavier armour. The iron spikes in his boots also gave him a considerable advantage. Whenever he could, he ran over areas where he thought the snow was the thickest.

The Face of Morea towered above him and he instinctively ran to where he had scaled the rock face earlier this morning. With all the gratefulness he could muster, he thanked that he had the foresight to leave his rope in place rather than untie it, reasoning that he was going to need it to climb to the peak again the next day. Turns out, he needed it sooner rather than later.

Sword belt back around his waist, he pulled himself up, boots flat on the wall that it looked like he was walking up the cliff. He looked behind and saw the three KoB players had paused.

"Come on, why are you guys hesitating?" he heard Korthe.

"Let him run to the top of the mountain," said Thick Boots. "We can get him if he tries to come down."

"Yeah, let him come to us. No point risking our lives," Brown Hat supported.

"Fuck that, I want to teach this bastard a lesson. He has no respect for us clearers," snapped Korthe.

Smokes felt the rope sway suddenly and he saw Korthe attempting to climb up behind him.

"Hey one person at a time on the rope, you idiot! No one ever taught you rock climbing basics?" he shouted.

"If it breaks, good! You're up higher than me, so you'll feel the fall more than me," came the reply.

Is this guy for real, Smokes thought.

The rope swayed even harder. He glanced up to check how the nearest hook was holding up. It was hard to tell in the near dark, but he had a feeling that it wasn't doing too good.

"Damn it," he cursed.

He thought about jumping off and running back to the village, but he was too high now and would probably hurt himself. Brown Hat and Thick Boots were blocking the path anyway, the two opting to watch rather than join the climb. If only Korthe could see reason like them.

He felt Korthe grabbed his ankle and he kicked out on reflex, but the man had an iron grip, yanking down hard on his boot. Smokes kept kicking, hoping that the iron studs would somehow clip the man in the head or something. His arms were straining to hold his place, the rope biting into the leather palm of his gloves. And then Smokes heard a snap, felt the hook give out—a sense of dread dawning in him—and suddenly they were both swinging.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **You guys would probably have noticed by now that I've changed a lot to SAO's game mechanics, or rather my lack of game mechanics. This is because I'm a fan of writing more realistically than be bogged down explaining game mechanics. It's just a personal preference though. Anyway, please do review. Halfway through the story now. As I'm editing I keep finding that the word count keeps growing longer and longer lol. I had initially planned this story to be only 15k long, which we have roughly hit now. Goes to show how bad I am at estimate story length.

See you all tomorrow.


	6. Chapter 6

**Darkness and Lightning: Part VI**

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

Smokes clung onto the rope for dear life, and Korthe onto his left boot with both hands. His shoulder exploded in agony as they slammed into the cliff face, and by some miracle he managed to not lose hold on the rope. Desperately, he tried gaining traction on the rocks with his spiked boots, but it was impossible with Korthe pulling one down. Pain shot through his leg as he heard an audible pop coming from his ankle and could not stop himself from crying out.

They swung like a pendulum, bouncing off the cliff face like ragged dolls, spinning, turning, the world flipping round and round. A protruding rock hit Smokes in the head, knocking off his furred hat. His dislocated ankle felt like it was being ripped off by the sheer weight of Korthe hanging onto it, and the immense pain brought tears to his eyes. He tried to shake the fuzz out of his head, seeing things only in flashes, but then he hit a rock again and lost all orientation again.

Perhaps it was all the hits he took to the head, but he could not remember when the swing of the rope had finally slowed to a near stop, only realizing the fact after not receiving any more bumps from rocks. It was only then he managed to get his free foot to grip onto the wall. They were still a good height up the cliff face.

Good the other hooks are holding on, he thought. For now.

A stab of pain reminded him of his stowaway.

"Let go of my foot!" he shouted.

"Fuck no, I'm not dropping to my death!"

If only he thought of that earlier, Smokes thought, mentally facepalming.

"You should be fine from this height. The snow will break most of your fall. Maybe just some broken bones," he tried reassuring. But when he looked down, he saw the fear within the KoB player's eyes. It was a fear he recognized well enough. There comes a certain point where a person would view any risk—however small—as a fatal one, and by then all ways of reasoning would be essentially fruitless. A near death encounter would do that to anyone.

Another surge of pain tempted him to lose all sympathy, but regardless he knew he had to find a way to get them both down safely. Smokes was hardly in a position to climb down though. Already, he felt his shoulder swelling, the ache growing louder and louder by the seconds he held on. Thick Boots and Brown Hat had run off to get help it seemed.

He looked around him and found his salvation in the Mouth. There was a small balcony to the cave opening only about six meters to his right, and he reckoned if he could get his foot in the right position he could easily swing over. He didn't think to think things through.

"Korthe!" he called.

"What?"

"I'm going to swing us into that cave there." He indicated with his head.

"What? Are you crazy? You're gonna cause the other hooks to—"

Smokes didn't let him finish and shifted his weight to as close to the cliff face as possible and pushed off. Korthe screamed.

They didn't get far at first, but as they swung back, Smokes kicked off again, repeating with each pass.

"Wha—the—fuck are—you doing?" Korthe shouted in between breaths.

Smokes ignored him, for momentum was now their friend, and they were swinging further and faster. And then, as the Mouth came to meet them, he called, "Hold on!"

"No, no, no!"

Smokes leapt off the rope…

…and immediately felt himself sink, Korthe his anchor, and suddenly the whole idea began to seem incredibly impulsive and reckless.

His abdominal crashed into the balcony ledge, punching the air out of his lungs. About three quarters of his body made it into the cave, but the bottom quarter was weighed down by Korthe and he instantly felt himself falling back down. He fought panic, groped, drew a dagger from his belt and drove it with two hands into the cave floor like an ice axe. His backward momentum halted.

For a few seconds, he just hung there, not quite believing what he'd done. Then a great, big breath escaped him, followed by a loud unflattering noise that sounded like laughter.

"Fucking hell! You actually fucking made it!" he heard Korthe shout from below. Smokes could tell the KoB player was equally as hysterical. "I can't believe you crazy bastard!"

"I can hardly believe it myself!"

"Hurry up and pull us in, will you?"

Smokes was unsure if he had the strength to pull the armoured player up into the cave. So, he called out, "Just climb up on me."

"You better hold on damn tight then. I weigh a lot."

"You think I don't know that!"

Smokes felt the back of his trousers tugged and then Korthe was grabbing onto his cloak, pulling himself up. Thankfully, the cloak did not rip, having been made from a rare wolf pelt. The KoB player grunted as he dragged himself into cave, his feet sloppily hitting Smokes' head. A weird laugh left him once he was safely within. It was a laugh of relief.

"You're one crazy sonofabitch, Smokes," he said with a grin.

"Yes, I am." Smokes was still laughing. "Now pull me up already!"

Already, his fingers were aching, and his injured shoulder throbbed so much that he thought a second heart had formed. Hanging folded over the ice-laden ledge brought as much discomfort as one could imagine, jagged edges jabbing at his belly. The release of pressure on his ankle was heavenly however and he felt like he could breathe again.

Then his dagger broke.

At first, all that registered to him was that the hilt came loose, the snapped blade still embedded in the floor. And then he was sliding off, out into the open air. Panic erupted inside him. He reached to gain purchase on something, but his fingers kept slipping on ice. His frantic kicking to find a foothold—_a step, a protruding rock, anything—_only hastened the slide. Before he knew it, his upper body glided off the ledge and he was falling.

"Gotchu!"

A strong hand gripped his right arm like an iron claw. Unfortunately, it was his right shoulder that had been injured, and he cried out in pain rather than realised he had just been saved.

"Come on, Smokes. Suck it up and take my other hand," came Korthe's voice from above.

He looked up and saw Korthe's figure reaching down. The sight brought him relief that he didn't know he could receive, pushing all the pain away.

He started laughing again. "I don't know. You going to attack me once I get up there? I might just hang down here," Smokes said with a smirk.

"I _will _drop you," growled Korthe.

Despite it all, Smokes could not help but grin and threw his other hand up. Korthe caught it perfectly.

"Don't struggle, it'll make it harder for me to pull you up."

Still, Smokes was laughing. The whole scene sounded ridiculous in his head. He had done a crazy feat, and now the man out for his blood just a few minutes ago was saving him. He guessed that there are certain lines that people won't cross. He felt himself being pulled up so easily that he could not help but wonder what was the KoB player's strength stat.

A screech shrieked from within the Mouth, so loud that Smokes wanted to cover his ears if he could. Korthe's head snapped back and even in the dim moonlight, Smokes saw the colour drain from his face.

"What the hell is that?" Korthe exclaimed.

"Korthe, pull me up now!" Smokes shouted.

Bluish-white lightning flashed against the interior of the cave. Smokes felt a sharp jolt hit him, felt it in every nerve in his body, and he let go of Korthe's hands. And then, for what seemed to be the thousandth time today, he was falling.

He watched Korthe's shocked expression, watched as his figure grew smaller and smaller till he was like a small doll. A large, winged shadow covered him suddenly, and Smokes could see the KoB player no longer. Everything around him was rushing up, the wind beating at his ears, the breath sticking in his throat, the snow dancing across his vision. But only one thought came to him then.

Kirin.

The ground met him with redemption, like it had long been expecting him, and his world went black.

* * *

"Kami, what a lucky bastard," said a feminine voice.

"How is he?" came a deeper, more authoritative voice. It sounded familiar but Smokes could not quite place it.

"Just a couple of broken ribs. A dislocated shoulder. But other than, he looks worse than he really is. I'm surprised he didn't break his back or any limbs in that fall. The snow must have absorbed most of the force. The pain alone will keep him bedridden for a couple of days though."

Smokes tried opening his eyes but found that they were unwilling to comply. Everywhere hurt. He tried moving his arms, but they felt like they were made of lead. His legs too. One thing he discovered though was that he was lying on a bed.

"Do what you can for him, Doc," said the deeper voice.

"Yes, captain."

Finally, he managed to get one eyelid to open the barest of openings and he saw the weathered face of Superior next to a youthful female face. His left leg went into a spasm then and he cringed up in pain.

"Oh, didn't see this earlier. His ankle is dislocated as well. Let me just set it—"

Nothing.

* * *

Smokes awoke.

He was in a room. In an inn. Wait, he remembered that there were no inns in Corsea. In someone's house then. There was a small table with a wooden stool in one corner. A woven box by the bed, whose mattress was stiff as hell as if it were stuffed with bricks.

It was day outside. The light filtering through the window told him that much. He could feel the cold breeze blowing inside, and he wished for a thicker blanket.

And then his memories came back to him. Running from Korthe, climbing the Face, falling off the Face. Kirin.

He fell off the bed rather ungracefully, flopping onto the floor rather than getting up as he had hope. His left ankle was in a cast, he noticed, his right shoulder in a sling, and his chest was all wrapped in bandages. He was missing his sword belt, boots and cloak. "Ow," he squeaked out.

The door opened and in came the youthful face which he vaguely remembered seeing before.

"Kami! Get back in bed, will you." The woman placed her hand on her hips, her lips pursed in irritation, like a condescending nanny. "All you clearers are the same. Can't wait to get back out in the field. Well, news flash, you're not much use with broken bones. More likely to get yourselves killed."

"Trust me, I rather stay in bed, but I got a job to do," Smokes said, pushing himself to at least stand.

"Yeah, yeah, they all say that. Now lie back down." She shook her head. "I don't get it. If I was a combatian I would want to find every excuse to get a day off."

"Not if you love what you do." Smokes smiled and made his way to the door. "Thanks for taking care of me. But I got to go. Is Korthe around by the way?"

The woman stopped him with a hand to his chest. Her touch sent waves of pain reverberating through his body and he cried out.

"See. You're in no condition to even move," she said. "But no, Korthe is not around." Her eyes suddenly averted. "They haven't found him yet."

Smokes paused. "What do you mean they haven't found him? He was at the Face last night. We saw something. But I fell before I got a good look. Korthe must have seen it."

She shook her head again. "When two of our guys brought you in, they said Korthe never got out of the cave. They tried looking for him but—"

"They never found him." Superior entered the room and closed the door behind him. He was dressed in simple tunic and trousers dyed in the KoB colours. The bags under his eyes showed what little sleep he had gotten from the night before, and he held a perpetual scowl. "They reported to me after dropping you off with Doc here, and I organized a search party. No signs of him popped up."

Dread welled up within Smokes. Kirin had gotten Korthe. "Is he—"

"He's alive," Superior said. "His name is still on the guild roster, which means he still resides in SAO. But right now, he's in a place where our PMs can't reach him. He's a fighter though, that man. You were smart to run away rather than accept that duel challenge yesterday." He gave Smokes a look that caused him to sit down on the bed.

"I didn't go looking for trouble," Smokes protested.

"Dio and Teru already told me their side of the story." Superior moved to sit down on the room's sole stool. "Now I want to hear yours. From the beginning."

It took about fifteen minutes for Smokes to recount everything and he spared no details. He always had a flare for storytelling, and he couldn't help describing the events more colourfully even as he tried keeping the facts straightforward. Superior listened with no visible reactions, only urging Smokes to cut to the point with a hand gesture whenever he felt the need.

"…I remember getting my foot set back in place. And then it was all blank," Smokes finished.

"The pain must have knocked you right out," the doctor said. "I'll do it again if you try to get up from that bed again."

"Thanks Doc, go check on Denshi again, will you," said Superior. The woman nodded and left the room. He turned back to Smokes. "So you think it's this legendry that abducted Korthe?"

Smokes nodded. "Folks here call it Kirin."

"Is this what you've been tracking?" Superior asked.

"Trying to. Hit a couple of dead ends. Last night was the closest I got to it, and I wasn't even looking for it at that time."

Superior's face seemed to fall into thought, his knuckles rapping on the tabletop. Then, "We explored the cave you two were in. There was a tunnel that led to a larger cavern, full of crystals and minerals. It was too dark to see how high the ceiling was. Korthe wasn't there, neither was this Kirin. But there were many other tunnels leading to who knows where. My squad is exploring them as we speak, but I need to know what we are up against." He looked at Smokes dead in the eyes. "Tell me everything you know."

Smokes frowned. "That's the thing. I don't know much about it besides the name. I've got bits and pieces which I've gathered these last few days, but I just can't piece them together. I need a bit more time to investigate what exactly is this thing."

Superior slammed his hand onto the table, startling Smokes. "I don't have time! My man is missing, and I need to find him now," the veteran snapped. He exhaled, took a moment to recollect himself, then put on that poker face again. "Let's start with conjectures then. I'm sure you have loads."

Smokes thought hard—he wished he had his notebook with him now but had to make do now with just his memory. "If it's not obvious already, it's a cave dweller," he began. "It uses lightning-base attacks. That was what I got hit with, I think. The village hunter said that he has seen footprints that looked like fins, but now that I think about it's probably some special feet that helps it sticks to walls and ceilings inside the caves."

_Shuuuush, stop shouting! _

_You stink._

_Those who can't see live in darkness, don't you agree?_

It all came to Smokes suddenly. "It's blind."

Superior raised an eyebrow. "Blind?"

"Years of living inside caves must have caused it to adapt to the darkness. So it relies on other senses such as smell and hearing to navigate and hunt," he said. His expression turned dark. "Pull your men out of the caves now. You guys are at a disadvantage in there. Your best bet is to draw it out into open air and kill it there."

"Draw it out how? We don't even know where it is." Superior glanced outside the window. "I see your point though, I'll warn them that what they might face. But fact is we still need to find Korthe."

"Let's go now then. To the cavern," Smokes said, standing up. His ankle gave a popping sound, sending pain up his body but he held back from crying out.

"No," Superior said. "You're staying here like Doc ordered."

"I'm not KoB personnel. I don't need to follow your orders."

"No, but you're under arrest."

Puzzlement filled Smokes. "What?"

"For the suspicion of a Green PK attempt," Superior said matter-of-factly. "All my men know right now is that you and Korthe went up the mountain last night and only you returned. Word is going around that you trapped him somewhere and left him to die. Once they hear about Kirin, they'll think you purposely lured Korthe to it."

"Green PK? That's just ridiculous." Smokes smacked his forehead, dumbfounded. "Look I told you he attacked me first. I didn't even know the thing was up there. That was just bad luck!"

"Korthe challenged you to a duel. While he did go against what I told him, I doubt he had any intentions to kill you. Luring him up to a cave to have the Kirin deal with him, however, that's less justifiable."

Irritations spiked within Smokes, but he forced himself to take a breath in. He studied Superior's face for a while, then spoke, "You don't actually believe that. You know it was all an accident."

A sigh escaped Superior. "Whether I believe it or not doesn't matter. My men already distrust you, given you're DDA. I have a duty to my men to see that proper procedures of justice are carried out. After we find Korthe, we'll take you down to the frontline where the Council will hear your case. You can prove your innocence then."

"No, I don't have the time. I need to—"

Superior raised his hand. "Enough. I need to get back to the Face." Before Smokes could protest, he already exited the room, the door shutting behind him.

Anger boiled within Smokes and he kicked the wall, roaring his frustration. But then the moment of outrage passed, and he sunk back down to the bed, lying with his non-injured arm slung across his eyes. A headache was forming behind his eyes and he massaged his temple, meditating on Darwin's words. The reasoning Superior gave was bullshit and simply reeked of guild politics. No point getting angry now though, he thought, a moment lost to anger is a moment not used for reason.

What next to do? He needed to think this through calmly. Well, he could do as Superior had said: wait till they bring him before the council of clearers and protest his case. That was the only option presented to him it seemed. He had heard how these things went. All quite formal, with a prosecutor and a defendant and a panel made up of the clearing guild leaders presiding as judges. The process could take quite a long time as most clearers preferably wanted to spend more of their time _clearing _rather than listen to court cases, so it might take a while before he even gets to stand before them. And when he does, what should he even say?

A quarter of an hour went by with Smokes playing out his arguments in his head.

He looked outside the window and saw the peak of Mt. Morea. It was rare enough that it wasn't covered in mist that he couldn't help but stare, all thoughts lost briefly. The mountain was truly magnificent. A sight to behold. Throne of Kirin, Goddess of Thunder. The White Mare.

Then he snapped back to the present, stood up, and made for the door.

* * *

"Hey, get back in there!" Doc shouted at him as he approached.

"Where's my sword and equipment?" he asked.

"And what do you need them for?"

"To hunt a giant monster."

She laughed. "Oh no, you're not. You're hardly in a position to move. Now get back inside or I'll make you."

She reached to push him, but he caught her by both her wrists. It was his turn to laugh.

"Look," he said. "I know you're trying to help and you're doing a great job. But if you think that scratches like these will keep me bedridden, you're sadly mistaken. I am the best Hunter Dragon there is. I was once the toast for a wyvern's breakfast. Giant yetis played tug-of-war with me as the rope. Not to mention a minotaur once thought me a mating partner." He shuddered at the memory of the last one. "Frankly, you're in no position to stop me, even if injured. So, I ask again, tell me where is my equipment."

"The captain told me to keep you here."

"Is the captain around?"

"No."

"Okay then, for the third time, tell me where my sword is, or I'll show you how Bigfoot breaks knees."

"They're over there."


	7. Chapter 7

**Darkness and Lightning: Part VII**

Despite his bravado earlier, he felt every broken bone and injury as clear as day. Just putting weight on his ankle was bringing him near to tears.

But thankfully, as he had guessed, Superior hadn't left anyone besides Doc to guard him. The KoB squad leader would have needed every man for the search, and probably reckoned Smokes too injured to move around much.

He stopped outside the blacksmith's workshop and just as he had hoped, Angevin was working at the open-air forge. The KoB smith made a noise of surprise when he looked up from the furnace.

"Smokes, I heard you were at Doc's." He looked over Smokes from head to toe. "God, you look terrible."

"I've no time to just sit around," Smokes said, limping over. "Angevin, I need your help."

"What is it? What exactly happened last night? No one's telling me anything."

"Long story short, we found the legendary monster I was looking. Good news, I got away with only some…minor wounds. Bad news, Korthe's missing and I need to find him." Smokes made a show of setting his iron-capped scabbard point-first into the ground, but it was mainly to support himself. "I think I know how to fight it, but I need to go in prepared."

To the smith's credit, he didn't question any further about the situation even though Smokes could tell he wanted to. "What do need?"

"How long will it take you to make ten hollow iron balls?"

Angevin raised an eyebrow, then pondered thoughtfully. "Twelve minutes if I rush it. They'll be crude though."

Smokes nodded. "Crude is fine. I'll work with what I got."

"Let me get right on it then."

The smith immediately set to work, heading out to the back of the workshop where he brought out two sacks jangling with the sound of metal inside. He dumped them on the floor and old helmets came spilling out. Three sallets, two kettle-hats, five spangens, four barbutes. Angevin picked up one of the barbutes with a pair of throngs and thrust it into the furnace, the flames spitting sparks high in the air. After a minute, he pulled it out, the helmet glowing bright orange from the heat. He laid it on the horn of the anvil and began beating the edges to form a sphere.

Smokes watched with admiration for the man's resourcefulness. He had used old helmets due to their already rounded shapes, thus lessening the workload for himself.

"Leave a small hole in each one," said Smokes.

Angevin grunted his acknowledgement, concentrated heavily on his task.

Smokes left him and ran to the village apothecary. To say he ran was a stretch actually, as it was more like furious hobbling. Thankfully, the apothecary had what he needed in stock and he bought half a kilo of black powder and five hundred centimetres of fuse. By the time he had gotten back to the workshop, Angevin had already finished five balls and almost done with the sixth.

With his good foot, Smokes dug a hole in the snow until he found gravel. His entire body protested as he squatted and scooped up two fistfuls of gravel, pouring it down the first hollow ball through an opening that Angevin had left. Then he took out the black powder he bought.

"What are you actually doing?" Angevin asked, curiosity seemingly getting the better of him.

"Later," Smokes dismissed.

This was the part where he had to be the most careful. A few millimetres too much and it could all end up disastrous for him. It also did not help that he had no measuring equipment with him at the moment and was forced to eyeball the amount. He poured what he hoped was five milligrams of black powder into the ball.

He cut a short length of fuse and rigged it.

"A grenade!" Angevin exclaimed. He had just finished the eighth ball.

"Not quite," Smokes said. "More like a party-popper. Or firecracker." He got to work filling the other balls. Gravel. Powder. Fuse.

"Firecracker? Why are you making that?'

"Just a theory I need to test out." Smokes would have explained more but he was intensely focused on not messing up with the black powder.

Angevin managed to finish the tenth and final ball, just as Smokes filled the ninth. It took no longer than thirty seconds to prepare the last ball. Wasting no time, Smokes gathered them up and placed them inside his pack. He tossed Angevin a pouch brimming with coins.

"That should cover your costs," he said.

"Oh, there's no need to pay me," responded Angevin, but Smokes was already leaving.

He ran through Corsea as quickly as his battered legs would allow him. Out onto the mountain pass, he climbed up the slopes, stumbling more times than he cared to count. The pain wore at him, dragged at him, lugged at him, but he kept moving.

Soon, he reached the Face and there was no one in sight but there were many new ropes hanging from the Mouth. Everyone must be inside the caves searching then, he reckoned. That worked out for him as he thought it best to avoid Superior for now. He made his way up to the left Eye. His injured shoulder screamed at him and he bit his lips and before long he was in the cave.

Just as he had remembered, the man-sized tunnel was inside the left Eye. There was no telling where it led to, but he had good reasons to think that it would eventually link up with the massive cavern Superior had mentioned. He made himself as small as possible, shifting his pack to the front so that it made it easier to crawl. The icy walls brushed his flanks as he squeezed through, his knees scrapping against the hard floor. About five metres in, he had no more sunlight to see ahead, leaving the darkness to embrace him like a shadowy companion. The sound of his breaths echoed and drummed at his ears as though they were the only noise in the world.

He felt the air slack suddenly, like when one moves from a cold room to a warmer one. He reached up to touch the ceiling, only to find that it wasn't there. Slowly, he rose to stand, half expecting his head to hit something, but he managed to draw himself up fully.

As he knew the inside of his pack like the back of his hand, he easily produced a torch. The flames bathed the place in orange light, and he saw that the tunnel expanded wider and wider the further one went. He walked forward with a hand on the hilt of his sword.

Eventually, he reached a cavern of some sort. Blue crystals grew out of the ceiling and walls like long fingers, their glow humming through the air. Two skeletons laid in one corner, pickaxes in hand, their clothes all but tattered. Smokes paid them not much attention though. A selection of tunnels gave him options of where to go next. He moved to the centre where the rocks had risen like a dais. Here was as good as any place, he reckoned and pulled out one of the iron balls.

He eyed it for a good minute, then lifted the fuse to his torch. For a second, nothing happened, then it sizzled and began spitting out sparks.

Smokes placed it carefully on the ground, then hurried a good distance away, clutching both ears tight.

"…Four. Three. Two," he counted. "One."

_POP!_

It sounded like an anti-material rifle firing and the echo down the tunnels was like lightning striking repeatedly. Even with his ears under his gloves, Smokes could not help but startle. When he dared to release his ears, he looked and saw the now spent iron ball spewing smoke from its lid, an acrid smell stinking the air.

The echo of the pop faded further and further away, but Smokes kept listening.

Then, a screech—a pitch so high that it would've caused Smokes' ear to bleed—came reverberating back from the left most tunnel, rivalling his oversized party-popper.

A grin crept to his face. "Got you, Kirin," he muttered and sprinted off down the tunnel the sound came from.

From the moment, he had come to the conclusion that the Kirin was blind, he knew that its other senses were hypersensitive. That meant that it was extremely susceptible to very loud noises. All that was left to do then was set a noisy bomb and let the Kirin's scream lead him to it.

The tunnel twisted, winded, straightened, sloped, then levelled. All the while the screeches kept coming, growing louder and louder. He was getting closer, he knew. Thrice he had come across a forkroad where the tunnel split off into two or more other tunnels, but each time he simply waited for the screeches to guide him. The network of tunnels inside Mt. Morea was like a maze, each turn and passing bringing you to a corridor that looked eerily the same as the others. He did not know how far up the mountain he was now, but it felt like he was close to the peak.

Blue opaque crystals crusted the walls, ceilings and floors. If he had the time, he would have stopped to examine them—it might prove that they were valuable to armourers and would thus fetch a decent price on the market.

The screeches stopped. But Smokes reckoned he need it not anymore. Instead, he could hear the sound of water gushing coming from ahead. The air had become moist and smelt of vegetations and growths, as if a jungle had grown inside the mountain. He saw the end of the tunnel, but a heavy mist covered what was beyond.

Stepping through felt like going through a veil, entering some long forbidden kingdom; a portal to a land existing in only stories and legends.

Smokes gasped.

It was not _just _another cavern he had walked into. The best he could describe it was to imagine an oasis in icy tundra rather than a dessert. A shallow river ran down the middle of the cavern, ending in a waterfall into an abyss too dark to see the bottom of. Alongside the riverbanks, sprouted large mushrooms the size of humans. There was also sunlight here; a study of the ceiling revealed a small hole—probably no larger than a table—as the cause. Smokes took a step further in and saw crystals growing everywhere like moss—not the blue ones he had seen earlier, but transparent ones—and the light worked through them like prisms, refracting into thousands of mini-rainbows that for several moments Smokes thought his eyesight was playing an illusion on him.

Beautiful, the only thought that came to Smokes at the moment.

He was on a rock balcony of some sort, overlooking the rest of the cavern from about ten feet high. He tried tracing the river to its source but could only find a large pool opposite of his position. In the middle of the pool was a tiny island with rectangular boulders lying on their length. Laying on top of one of the boulders was the still body of Korthe. Not dead, but paralyzed.

Smokes jumped down from the balcony and drew his blade. His eyes darted around, but there were no signs of the legendary beast. He took a step into the pool, the water barely coming up to his ankle.

Intuition more than anything made him jump back. The waters in front of him suddenly sparked with bluish-white light; it took him a split second later to realized it was electricity. A screech louder than anything he'd ever heard before erupted behind him, and he spun grabbing his ears in pain.

Kirin, Goddess of Thunder, perched upon the cavern wall, with her two feet like suction cups and her tail wrapped around a large crystal like an anchor, looking nothing like a white mare. She spread her wings and her head—like that of a giant worm—stretched forward eerily long. She had a glasgow smile, lips red as blood, and when she opened it, it exposed rows of saw-like teeth. A ball of blueish-white light appeared at the back of her throat.

Smokes barely rolled out of the way as lightning shot out of Kirin's mouth. It struck the ground behind with a loud thunder, blackening the earth and tossing up dirt.

"Damn, you're ugly," muttered Smokes.

Kirin leapt off the wall, glided over, and landed in front of Smokes, and he saw that she was at least two times taller than him. Her head snapped forward, but her teeth closed only on air for Smokes had rolled under. He found his footing, saw he was under the neck, and threw a cut from low. The blade slashed into Kirin, not as deep as he'd hoped—it was like cutting blubber. He struck above the thigh next and drew a squirt of dark ink-like blood which dyed his coat. Kirin shifted above him, screeching, and he ducked between her legs.

To Smokes' surprise, her neck proved long enough for her to strike at him. A panic cover snapped off three teeth off her maw but jarred his sword arm numb. He didn't have time to react to Kirin's swinging tail. Air rushed out of his lungs like a deflating balloon as it connected with his midsection, flinging him several feet in the air. The ground came up to meet him with all the haste in the world, but he was not as eager and twisted his body so that he landed on the balls of his feet rather than his back, his injured ankle screaming in protest. He slid backwards till his knees touched the floor and reached out with a hand to steady himself.

The river flowed merely a step behind him, and he felt the water splashing against the back of his legs. He knew that whatever happened, he must not step into the river as the Kirin could then electrocute him through the water's conductivity.

Kirin sniffed—once, twice—then faced him, seemingly finding his scent. She had no eyes, or anything remotely resembling them, confirming Smokes' suspicion that she was blind. She growled, her red lips pulling back to something of a grin, and her maw opened to another ball of blueish-white.

Dodging the lightning bolts that came out was easy enough for Smokes, but he can't be just be avoiding her attacks all day; eventually, his injured body would refuse to cooperate. He needed a plan. In a perfect world, he would have gathered enough info by now to have educated guesses of her weaknesses and come prepared. But alas, preparation was not a gift circumstances had provided for him today.

Except for one thing.

Smokes reached into his pack, pulling out one of the iron balls. His torch laid somewhere between him and Kirin, where he had dropped it earlier on his brief journey in the air. He sprinted for the torch. Adrenaline gave him tolerance to the pains in his ankle and the already growing bruises across his chest.

Kirin pounced at his movement and he rolled, propelled himself forward with his momentum, and landed right next to his torch. The fuse on the iron ball was lit in a heartbeat, and he waited till it burnt halfway before throwing up as high as he could. He covered his ears.

_POP! _

Kirin wailed and thrashed, her screeches bouncing off the walls of cavern in a symphony of discord. She stomped, spun, shot more lightning out of her mouth.

Smokes darted in, blade cutting high and low. He made quick thrusts, heavy slashes powered by his hips, but most of all he gouged, twisting and ripping out chunks of flesh. Against large, giganteas monsters, there was no hope in a swift fatal strike. One must aim to carve—to maim.

He sliced long, deep gashes in Kirin's legs, and when that didn't seem to do much damage, he hacked and hacked. Again, it was like cutting blubber, ink-blood splashing his face. He sidestepped, rolled under, stumbled clumsily in synchronicity to the erratic movements of Kirin to avoid being hit. Every step with his right ankle sent a jolt of pain up to his lower back, but he persevered.

The air suddenly grew hot around Smokes. A zapping noise rose. Then Kirin's entire body began to glow. Brighter, brighter, and brighter.

Dread dawned within him.

He jumped to scramble away but slipped on blood and fell face-first into the floor. His hands slipped on more blood when he tried pushing himself up.

But the fall might have just saved him as lightning burst forth from Kirin in every direction, shooting over his body. He flipped onto his back and found himself face to face with Kirin. Steam blew out from the two holes that were her nostrils. Bulging, purple veins were now visible throughout her neck. She sniffed at Smokes and then snarled, showing her teeth cruelly. Smokes recognized the signs clearly enough. Kirin was enraged.

He rolled out of the way, just as Kirin's head snapped forth and chomped on where he been a split second earlier. A minor miracle got him onto his feet, and he ran to get some distance in between them. Kirin leapt after him, cutting him off, and if he'd thought his strikes to her legs would slow her down, he was wrong. He covered poorly and his blade went flying out of his grip. Weaponless, he dived to one side. Kirin swung her tail at him, and he ducked under, but found himself without a way to counterattack. She jumped on top of him, wings knocking him to the ground. When he tried to get up, one of those suction cup feet pressed him down. He reached, pulled a dagger out of his belt, and sunk it into the foot, then stabbed it again and again.

Kirin screeched and the pressure was lifted off Smokes just enough for him to squirm out. He scrambled and retrieved his sword, then turned in time to cut at Kirin's incoming bite. Her maw closed around his blade, refusing to let go. With his other hand, he thrust his dagger up at where he thought the bottom of the jaw was, inky blood dripping all over his arm. Still, she did not let go. Instead, her whole head glowed blueish-white, and it was him who had to release his sword.

Sparks of electricity crackled out of her mouth. He retreated to a safe distance and for once she did not follow. He was breathing hard, his entire body aching and hurting like none other. There was no way he would be able to kill this thing at his current condition. Where the hell was the KoB squadron? Surely, they would have heard all Kirin's screeching and be here by now?

An idea came to him then. He could simply just bring her to them rather than wait for them.

Smokes stared at the monster, watching her spit out his sword and make slow steps towards him. She seemed to know that she had him on the retreat and was now taking her sweet time toying with him.

He scanned his surroundings with one quick look, careful not to take his eyes off Kirin for longer than a second. There were several tunnels exiting the cavern aside from the one he had entered. He had no idea which one would lead him to the KoB squadron, so he would have to guess. He pulled out another iron ball.

Thirty seconds. That was how long he'd counted a small bomb would stun the monster.

There was no time to second guess now. He found his torch lying not too far from him and lit the fuse, then hurled it to his right. The sizzling sound of the fuse burning drew Kirin's attention and her head turned to follow the iron ball's trajectory; in that moment, Smokes ran for his sword. Kirin snapped back to him, snarled, and began charging another ball of lightning.

_POP!_

The lightning ball fizzled out in her throat and her ensuing scream made Smokes feel like his head was about to explode. He managed to get his sword back and then was running towards one of the tunnels he had arbitrarily picked, all the while counting down the time he'd left to get as much distance away.

…Twenty-three, twenty-two, twenty-one.


	8. Chapter 8

**Darkness and Lightning: Part VIII**

…Eleven, ten, nine.

Smokes realized he was bleeding. Several long gashes ran down his left forearm, the sleeves of his cloak and tunic ripped wide open. A few of Kirin's teeth must have shaved him earlier and he didn't notice with all the adrenaline. It stung badly now. He had neglected to wear his vambrace on this arm for he hadn't had the chance to get it repaired for the damage it had taken in the fight with the mandrills.

He decided against wrapping his forearm in bandages. Not only because he didn't have the luxury of time, but also because he hoped the blood would leave a trail for Kirin to easily pick up and follow.

…Six, five, four.

The tunnel turned, weaved, split, joined, intersected. Smokes had no idea where he was going, picking a route out of random rather than any sense of directions. His torch only shone brightly enough to see about five meters ahead; beyond was dark, hidden, and full of mysteries.

Kirin's screeches hounded from somewhere behind him, his only comfort being that they were fading away more and more as he ran.

…Three, two, one.

He slowed to a stop, panting. Suddenly, his whole body felt so heavy.

"She should be coming after me now," he said, and listened.

There was a pause in the screeching. Then an unpause. Then another pause. Then another unpause.

Then pure silence.

Good enough sign for me, he thought and started running again.

A minute later, he reached a fork road and chose to go left. He rubbed the cave wall with his bloodied forearm, marking it with his blood. The coldness of the rocks seeped into his arm, causing him to shiver. All this running had made him forget how cold he was. His legs felt like lead and they were shaking just by standing. He worked himself up to move again, knowing that the longer he stopped, the greater the temptation to just collapse and lie on his back.

He got about ten meters before he saw a bright light ahead of him. It began small—about the size of coin—but grew larger. There was a blueish tint to its outline.

Shit!

He threw himself against the flat of the wall. A bolt of lightning shot past him, scalding the exposed skin on the back of his neck. Somewhere in front, Kirin roared in a way that only predators who found their prey would. He could not see her, but knew she was very much closer to him than he'd expected. His idea of running through the dark tunnels which the monster knew how to navigate like a natural GPS was suddenly not so clever in retrospect. Another lightning ball came, and he jumped to the opposite wall; parts of his hair singed.

Out of the darkness, the head of Kirin snapped forward. Rows and rows of teeth clamped on his sword arm, and he screamed as they sunk through his thick cloak and armour like nothing. He tried pulling away, but it only hurt him more. The individual teeth were like hooks to his flesh; the more he tried to pull, the more they rip. He tried swinging his sword to cut with just his wrist but seeing how it was like trying to touch one's right elbow with one's right hand, he slammed his torch into one of Kirin's nostrils instead. An acrid smell of something burnt filled his nose as the flames extinguished against the beast's flesh.

A high-pitch screech escaped through the gaps of Kirin's mouth, and she dragged Smokes around like a stuffed toy, his knees banging against the floor and wall. He grunted as he punched with the torch—whose charred end was still very much hot—into Kirin's nostril over and over, and eventually she relented and let go his arm. Her neck thrashed, bashing against wall to wall.

He stumbled backwards, blood flowing freely from deep gorges in his arm. Fire hurts her, that thought appearing in one tiny corner of his mind. He didn't stay to test his theory and instead ran back the way he came. With no longer a torch in hand, he had no way of seeing where he was going. More than once, he tripped and fell, and it was only through sheer willpower that kept him getting up and moving. He fought panic, groped, and felt his way through the tunnel.

The air behind him grew warm, and he knew it well enough by now to throw himself flat on the floor. Lightning zapped over his head. He scrambled to his feet, then swung his sword on reflex and luck would have it that he managed to clip Kirin somewhere in the head as she struck. She missed her bite, and he kicked her with his iron-shod boot, but then slipped on something round and fell on his back.

He found the culprit—several of his iron balls had fallen out of his pack without him realizing. With nothing else in mind, he picked them up and tossed them at Kirin, while digging backwards on his elbows to escape. The first one hit her in the side of the head. The next two, she swallowed whole.

"Fucking hell!" shouted Smokes and then threw another one for he didn't know what else to do. She ate that as well.

Kirin screeched right in his face, saliva spitting against his cheeks, reeking of rot and decay.

"Well, excuse you," Smokes said.

If this had been his first rodeo, he would have just laid back, rest his head on the floor, and accepted defeat. But he had been down this situation many times before, and if there was one thing the experiences taught him, it was this: you're not dead until you're dead.

A herculean effort got him to his feet again—how many times had he fallen? Kirin lurched at him and he dodged to the side, then hacked down with both hands on her exposed, elongated neck. The blade found purchase in the thick rubbery hide, and Smokes pushed down with all his weight. Ink-blood sprayed.

Kirin screamed and staggered backwards, taking Smokes' sword with her. She tried clawing the embedded weapon out of her neck, but her claws—attached to her wings—were too short to reach. All the while, blood kept squirting out of her wound.

Smokes knew an opening when he saw one, and he turned and ran away. Again, with no torch, he could only guess where he was going. Then, he saw bright light ahead and a hope arose in him.

He stopped at the edge of the tunnel. His heart sank. Somehow, in all the twists and turns and his mindless running, he had come upon the cavern with the river and crystals again. Everything was almost exactly the same as when he first found it, except for the signs of the earlier fight—blackened pits of char and drying pools of blood.

His arms hurt. His legs hurt. His chest hurt. If there was a person who could point out a place in his body where it didn't hurt, he would give him a thousand Cols then and there. All in all, however, it was nothing he hasn't dealt with before.

He knew Kirin would be here any moment. He limped towards the small island in the middle of the mini lake. Korthe's paralyzed body was still on the boulder. If he could somehow free the man, perhaps they would stand a better chance.

The water was icy cold as he splashed through them, each step an agony. Rather ungracefully, he flopped rather than climb onto the bank of the tiny island. Exhaustion pounced on him then, weighing him down like multiple brigandines. He crawled forward, too weak to force himself to stand. His hand found support on one of the boulders and he managed to get himself to a sitting position.

A screech announced the arrival of the Goddess of Thunder. She flew out a hole in the cavern wall somewhere high above, tumbled in the air, then crashed down hard into the pool, splashing water everywhere. Smokes' sword was still in her neck, soaked to the hilt in ink-blood; the hitch in her movements showed that it was clearly hurting her greatly. It took her a few seconds to roll to her feet, but far less than that to sniff out Smokes. Her maw opened wide and Smokes expected another lightning ball; he doubted he had the strength to dodge but braced himself regardless.

The blueish-white light appeared, grew…then sputtered in her throat before fizzling out completely. Kirin gagged, appearing as if she was choking. More blood spurted out of the sword wound.

Smokes laughed, realizing that his blade was probably affecting her ability to shoot out electricity.

His laugh was short lived as Kirin faced to the ceiling, where the hole of incoming sunlight was, and _howled_. Smokes stared confused. Up until now, the monster had only screech and roared, mainly screeching—he suspected he would be near deaf after today—but never did she make this noise before.

Then, the sky above responded her with thunder. It began as a rumble, slowly rising, like the building of a drumroll, one second spaced between each beat, which then grew closer and closer, reaching finally a crescendo resembling a large gong.

Understanding formed within Smokes. This was why Kirin was known as the Goddess of Thunder. On her throne in Mt. Morea, she could control the very weather. The thunderstorm which the villagers had seen several weeks ago was no natural phenomenon. It was the works of Kirin.

A giant hand of lightning struck down from the gathering dark clouds—blasting the hole in the ceiling even more wide open—and _went _straight into Kirin like she was a lightning rod. She glowed brighter and brighter, her grey clammy skin turning bright white. The river sparked suddenly with electrical currents.

Oh fuck, Smokes thought, she was going to blow this whole place up.

Smokes searched his pack for anything he could use, but most of its contents had fallen out somewhere in the tunnels. All he had left was a dirty cloth rag, a glass bottle of pine tar, a dirk, some bandages, bits of dried beef, and a flint. Fuck, he wished he still had some of his iron balls left.

More lightning pounded down, the waters in the river splashing high into the air, and Kirin absorbed more and more of it into herself. An ultra-pitch sound rang in the air, like one of those sounds one would hear after getting rocked in the head.

Smokes dumped his whole pack onto the ground and used the dirk to pry open the cork of the pine tar bottle. He stuck a finger inside and smeared the cloth rag with some tar, then stuffed one end into the bottle itself, leaving the other to hang out like wet hair. With the flint, he struck the flat of the dirk and when no sparks produced, he struck again—and again.

A minute strip of metal peeled off from the dirk—that was what a spark is really, a red-hot piece of metal too small to see—and landed on the tar-stained cloth rag. It caught. Smokes raised his hastily assembled handiwork to better examine it. If he had some sulphur, he could have mixed it with the pine tar to make a better incendiary, but as it is, he would just have to stick with this.

He pushed himself to his feet, every muscles of his straining in pain, and hefted the Molotov cocktail. Kirin snarled at him, at least a couple of dozen meters away from him.

"Eat this," he muttered.

He hurled the bottle at her.

Perhaps, if his arms hadn't been wounded, or if he hadn't taken a bad fall last night, or if he hadn't been running around fighting a giant monster all day, Smokes would_ easily _have had the strength to throw far enough to reach the beast. But as far as circumstances go, Fortune was already kind enough to him that he could manage to throw just slightly further than a kid who'd just picked up his first baseball. The pine tar bottle burst exploded as it touched the electric-charged waters, and a hedge of flames rose up, but it was not even close to connecting Kirin.

"You got to be shitting me," he said, dumbfounded, sinking back to lean against the boulder behind him.

Kirin howled once more, louder than before, and a pillar of lightning struck down on her. She soaked it all like a sponge, the air around her now practically buzzing. Her skin took another change in colour that it now glowed yellow. Whatever it was that she was doing, it seemed to be coming to an end, Smokes thought.

The lightning pillar vanished as suddenly as it came. The thundering stopped. But still there was some drumming noise.

Oh wait, that was his heart beating.

You're not dead until you're dead, he thought.

He forced himself to walk forward to the edge of the island, clutching the dirk in one hand. He racked his head for any ideas, anything that he could somehow use to turn the tide, but nothing came. Except for one. When in doubt, attack.

He charged. Straight on.

The moment his foot stepped into the waters, he felt a shock surged through his body, triggering every aches, wounds, and injuries with a vengeance. He bit his lips to stop himself from crying out, and pushed through. Each second passed like a minute. Through the hedge of flames, he ran, shielding his face with his arms. He was screaming, he realized, a war-cry from the pit of his belly.

Kirin screeched at his approach and reared up, widening her maw till it could even encompass Smokes himself. Inside, a lightning ball—larger than any he'd seen before—charged, and despite his irreligiousness he thought for a moment the blueish-light was God greeting him after death. There was no dodging this, he knew, and he dumped what was left of his energy into his legs to run faster.

The lightning ball reached its zenith, discharging small bolts of lightning like a plasma globe. He raised his dirk and leapt.

_POP! POP! POP!_

The lightning ball exploded while still in Kirin's mouth, blasting Smokes away. He crashed onto the riverbank, his breath knocked out of him, a wave of dizziness washing his head, darkness creeping at the edges of his vision. Kirin wailed the wail of a dying animal, the insides of her throat all burnt, and she was vomiting blood at a rate that was unrecoverable. A large hole had opened right above her chest, and she thrashed and bashed, her legs wobbling as though drunk. Finally, she crashed down. Her body twitched once, twice, then laid still.

The Goddess of Thunder was dead.

Smokes grinned, with no idea what the hell just happened. For the moment, he didn't care. Before the darkness took him, he noticed that the river had turned black from the blood.


	9. Chapter 9

**Darkness and Lightning: Part IX**

He woke to raindrops falling on his face. The hole in the ceiling had been broken wider by Kirin's call of thunder, and now the dark clouds above showered him with murky water. He wiped his face, then instantly regretted it for his hand was all sticky with blood. The lower half of his torso laid in the river, while the upper half was propped up against the stony bank. The rain patted rhythmically against the rocks in the cavern.

Not more than a dozen meters away was the dead carcass of Kirin. If there ever was an unmajestic way of dying for a goddess, this was it. Her wings and limbs were spread-eagled, while her long neck and head curled up like a shrivelled-up snail. A giant worm with wings, thought Smokes, Kayaba makes some of the ugliest creatures sometimes.

Every fibre of his being groaned and protested as he got himself to stand. Most probably, he'd broken a couple more ribs in the fight. He winced. And an elbow, it seemed.

He moved closer to the legendary monster. Her grey, clammy skin glistened with rainwater. By now, all the blood seemed to have been drained out of her and she was considerably thinner. Despite everything, Smokes' sword somehow was still planted in her neck, but when he tried pulling it out, it snapped at the blade, leaving him with only the hilt and a couple inches of steel, which he tossed aside. He examined the hole in her chest—the one that had been blasted open by with her final lightning ball; the insides had been completely charred, her innards all but blackened clumps.

Something caught his eyes, and he reached inside. He pulled out a crushed piece of metal, and immediately he knew what it was. Slimy with blood and battered out of shape, but undeniably it was one of his makeshift party-poppers. The memory of him throwing a few of them futilely into Kirin's mouth came to mind, causing his head to shake. The fuse was missing though, and he took a peer inside the hole, smelling the unmistakable scent of burnt black powder.

Realization hit him and he let out a laugh which had there been anyone to witness would've thought him mad. It was all so stupid, he thought. Somehow, someway, by a stroke of incredible luck, or maybe a sign that he should start believing in Kami, when Kirin had been charging up that final lightning ball, it generated enough heat inside to light the fuse of the iron balls on fire. And when they went off, it caused the Thunder Goddess to lose control of her lightning attack. Thus, blowing a hole in her body and killing herself.

He couldn't stop laughing. No one was ever going to believe him.

After a few minutes, the pain in his chest caused him to finally control himself, but even then a few giggles escaped. He limped to the small island, climbed onto the boulder in the center, and squatted down beside Korthe. The KoB player's cloak was torn in many places, his breastplate broken into two pieces, and his gauntlets missing. His eyes looked to Smokes with fear, blood flowing out of a cut in his forehead. The rest of his body laid frozen as ice.

"Don't worry, Korthe, the bitch is dead now," Smokes said.

"H…he-lp, my sto-ma-ch," the syllables came out of Korthe's lips, which barely moved.

"I got you, just relax." Smokes pried open the broken breastplate and saw a nasty deep cut splitting down the abdominal, dried blood encrusting the edges. "Oh good, the bleeding stopped already. But…"

Smokes borrowed Korthe's dagger from his belt and then stabbed it into the wound. Korthe's eyes widened as his body stiffened, spit foaming out of his mouth.

Smokes laughed. "Hah, you thought I'm getting my revenge, didn't you? Maybe I should after all I've been through today because of you. But no, we DDA folks are arseholes, but we're not killers."

He yanked out the dagger. Embedded on its tip was a squirming larva the length of a handspan. It let out a small jolt of electricity that stung Smokes not more than a static shock. "Little bugger!" Smokes dashed it against the boulder, instantly killing it.

He reached to the pouch on the back of his belt, taking out a yellow potion. Uncorking it, he placed it on the lips of Korthe. "Drink, it'll get you out of paralysis," he said.

Korthe managed to open his mouth the smallest of openings and Smokes let the yellow liquid drip in slowly till the vial was empty. A minute later, the KoB regained functions to his fingers and feet. Another minute after, his facial expressions. By the third minute, he was up sitting and making short sentences.

"I…could feel it…inside me…eating me," he said haltingly.

What Whirrun said was true then, Smokes thought, Kirin would paralyze her prey and inject her younglings into them.

"It was killing you slowly," Smokes said.

"I…couldn't move. I couldn't…do anything." Tears ran down Korthe's cheeks and before Smokes knew it, the KoB player was sobbing into his hands, his shoulders shaking.

Unsure of what to do, Smokes hesitantly laid a hand on his elbow. "It's okay now," he tried.

"I thought I was going to die!" The paralysis seemed to be fully worn off and the KoB player suddenly gripped Smokes by the shoulders, his eyes wild with craze. "Do you know what it's like to being able to do fuck all but watch your health bar drop bit by bit? Sliver by sliver?"

"I can only imagine," Smokes said without any wit.

"I can still hear it gnawing. That gnawing!" Korthe shouted. "I CAN STILL HEAR IT!"

"Let's get you back to your squad, okay?" Smokes suggested.

But Korthe wasn't listening. He was clutching his ears, shaking his head with his eyes closed. Pity filled Smokes as he watched the clearer spit out nonsense words in an effort to drown whatever noise he was hearing inside his head. The man had lost his sanity. It was impossible to tell whether he would ever regain it. Smokes had seen it many times before, a player traumatised to the point where they could never be the same again. That was the nature of the death game. It was either you die, or you live long enough to want to die.

He helped Korthe to his feet; the man was screaming at the top of his lungs now. He took one more look at carcass of Kirin, thinking what a shame it was to leave it here without harvesting any material off it. But even if he hadn't need to bring Korthe back, he was not in a state that was able to haul much back anyway. A sigh escaped him, knowing that the KoB would have their share of pickings once they found it. All his energy into this hunt and fight gone down the drain.

Oh well. He reckoned he should just be glad to be alive and relatively intact. Korthe broke down crying again.

"Now," Smokes said, "how the hell do we get out?"

* * *

It took the better part of an hour, but eventually they made it out onto the open air, crawling out from a small cave opening capped with snow. The tunnels, it proved, wasn't as daunting a maze without a lightning-shooting monster chasing. He also managed to recover the fallen contents of his sack in one of the tunnels, including two of the iron balls. That being said, it was still a pain in the arse to navigate and they had gotten lost so many times that Korthe became convinced that he was in a dream and he would soon wake up with everything all right. That calmed him down considerably. Eventually, Smokes found a trail of mandrill faeces that led him to the exit.

Saved by monkey poo, he thought, they must have wandered inside the caves from time to time.

The dark clouds of earlier had turned merely light grey now, the rain long gone. Smokes had forgotten how cold it was outside.

"Are you sure you took it out?" Korthe suddenly asked. In the past hour, he would at interval become convinced the Kirin larva was still in his stomach.

"I'm sure," Smokes said.

"What if there's more than one?" His hands fell to his abdominal, trying to claw through the bandages.

Smokes calmly peeled Korthe's hands away. "There isn't. This is a dream anyway, remember?" He felt bad for lying, but it was easier this way.

Korthe nodded. "Yeah, you're right."

With one arm in a sling, Smokes directed them towards the Face where they could climb down. A herd of Popos was gathered near the cliff edge, digging through snow to find frozen grass. He glanced out and saw Superior with a group of men at the foot of the cliff. They spotted him instantly, and he heard yelling. Oh yeah, technically he was still under arrest. It felt like ages ago.

He found the rope he'd tied to a rock and held it out to Korthe.

"You go down first," he said.

"What about you?"

"I'll be right behind you. Your squad might kill me if I go down first."

Korthe took the rope. "Alright," he said and went over the cliff.

Smokes watched the KoB player climb down, hoping that he still had enough sense to not fall. The base of the cliff was a hive of activity now as the KoB squad saw the appearance of their lost teammate. Men were rushing over into the area from seemingly everywhere.

Despite it all, Smokes felt a frown forming on his face. He knew that the second he touched the ground he would have to explain everything to Superior, that is if they don't just take him into custody without any questions asked. Given everything he'd gone through, all he wanted to do right now was just ride off somewhere far and not deal with any of this. He looked back at the herd of Popos, and they stared back him with their large, round eyes. A grin cracked across his lips suddenly.

A few minutes later, he climbed down the rope, his injuries all but nearly causing him to nearly faceplant into the ground below. Just as he predicted, he was surrounded by KoB players the second he reached. He did not even resist when two tall, burly players grabbed him by the arms.

Superior came forward, Korthe by his side.

"Explain." He spoke the word with such authority that Smokes felt compelled to obey.

"Tracked down Kirin. Killed her. Saved your man."

"How did you find it?"

Smokes shrugged, which was hard, given that his arms were gripped. "I know my tracking. If you want to see the carcass, just go up this cliff, follow our footsteps, you should find a cave there. Then, follow a trail of my blood and you should come across a cavern with a river in it."

Superior directed three of his men to follow the lead, then faced Smokes again. "You killed it all by yourself?"

"Well, I definitely didn't have you guys' help." That stirred some angers in a few KoB players, and they heaped a round of insults at him. Superior silenced them with a raised hand.

He looked at Korthe, who had sat down in the snow, clutching his ears again, and then looked back at Smokes. "What happened to Korthe?" he asked.

"You should get him to Doc right now," Smokes responded. "I'm afraid he might have…lost it."

To Superior's credit, he immediately turned to his squad and said, "Get Korthe to Doc's hut now." The men around him jumped into action, helping Korthe up by the armpits and practically lifting him towards Corsea. Superior gave Smokes an examining look. "Looks like you need to see her too. God, you won't hear the end of it once she sees the state of you. Unless these are just scratches?" He raised an accusing eyebrow.

Smokes laughed at that. "She's a good doctor. But I'm a terrible patient."

"Regardless, she'll patch you up anyway. Come." He waved at the two men grabbing him and they let go of him. "You can explain everything to me back in the village."

The frown returned to Smokes. "Do I have to?"

"Yes," the KoB squad leader said. "But you're free to go afterwards. Even though you broke out of arrest, I'll pardon you on the account of you saving my man." Then he smiled—the first friendly one Smokes had seen from him, "Thank you, Smokes. Thank you."

Smokes returned the smile. "Just did what I could. Thanks for the pardon." He rubbed the back of his head nervously. "In that case, I think I should warn you about something."

"What is it?"

"We should all get out of here in the next few seconds." Smokes glanced up to the top of the cliff.

The KoB squad members shared a confused look between themselves.

"What do you mean—"

_POP!_

A low grumble of thunder rumbled from above, bringing back memories of Kirin to Smokes. Then came a roar, but not the high-pitch screech of the Goddess of Thunder, but the loud bellow of a bison. The first Popo leapt off the crown of Mt. Morea's Face. Followed by a second. And a third. And then the whole herd of them, their large bodies briefly blocking out the sky.

The KoB squad scattered as the oversized bisons began crashing into the ground, splattering blood, flesh, and entrails. One Popo's horn flew out and nearly skewered a KoB player as he ran. Another player practically had guts doused all over her, and she screamed in horror. Players pulled one another out of the way of flying slabs of meat, bones, and teeth. The carpet bombing of Popos continued on for another minute before finally settling down.

Superior, after a few second of stupefied, had shuffled his squad quickly to the outskirts of the clearing before the majority of the Popos hit the ground, thereby saving his men. A quick roll call revealed that no one was seriously hurt, the worse being the emotional trauma dealt to the girl who was covered in entrails.

"Where the hell is Smokes?" Superior yelled.

But Smokes was already running down the path to Corsea. He rang out with laughter. His theory worked! And he'd proven it in the most audacious, gutsy, and god-damned impulsive way possible. As it is, he couldn't bring himself to give a single damn about the enemies he had made himself today with that one act.

Soldier neighed happily in his stall when he saw Smokes running into the stable. Smokes saddled him in about the same time it took to rig the iron ball with a longer fuse, mounted in one swift motion, and then pressed his boots into Soldier's flanks and was off riding out of this sorry excuse of a village.

Get as far as here as possible. Treat his wounds. Then search out leads for the next hunt. That was his plan.

He kissed his Hunter Dragon medallion and thought of how much he loves his job.

**THE END**

* * *

**Author's Notes: **So here we are, the end of the first adventure with Smokes. Hope you all enjoyed it. Like I said before, this fanfic is going to be episodic in nature and this here is just merely the introductory arc.

Smokes was definitely an interesting character to write for me and I had a fun time writing him. But looking back at this story, I do find a lot of areas where it could have been improved on. When I first got the idea for Smokes to be DDA, I thought it would be an interesting way to explore the DDA more, which hadn't been done in the anime. But as I wrote this story, there seemed less and less opportunities to explore the DDA as I was more focused on building Smokes' character himself. Maybe now that I think this first story arc has introduced his character sufficiently, I can explore the DDA more in future arcs.

A big thank you for all my readers, the few of you, who have stuck with me from beginning till end. But most especially, thank you to **Alarick07 **who I believe is my most faithful reader. He kept faith in me even when I went on a hiatus and his support gave me a big boost in wanting to complete this story. So I don't think I can thank you enough for your support, and I hope you enjoyed this story and I also hope that I can continue writing things that you will enjoy.

Anyway, for now I will be leaving Smokes for a bit because I have already started work on a different story. Don't worry though, I will return to Smokes one day because I already have several ideas for his next adventures. Hopefully, I will have become a better writer by then to pull them off. Anyway, I will mark this story as Complete for now, but will change it later when I begin a new arc.

So once again thank you. Please do leave a review. I very much like to hear what you guys think. Criticisms are more than welcome, I will in fact cherish them because that's how I will grow as a writer.


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